Unintended Visitor

Somewhere in Limbo

There are seasons that don’t arrive—

they return.

Not announced. Not explained.

Just felt—

like warmth settling into a place

that remembers it.

I don’t know when you found me.

Only that something in me recognized the shift

before I named it.

Not memory. Not imagination.

Something quieter than both—

steady, unforced,

unchanged by whether I understand it.

It didn’t ask to stay.

It didn’t need to.

I’ve spent enough time doubting myself

to know the difference now.

Not everything uncertain is untrue.

I know when something holds.

When it doesn’t bend under pressure

or disappear when questioned.

I know the difference

between silence that protects

and silence that permits.

And I’ve learned—

I don’t need to be perfect.

I need to be clear. Exact. Kind—

without disappearing.

So when it matters, I speak.

Not to be heard—

but to keep something honest

from slipping out of reach.

And still—

there you are.

Not in front of me.

Not anywhere I can point to.

And yet— not absent.

It isn’t distance. It isn’t time.

It’s something else—

a recognition that doesn’t rely on meeting.

Like standing in a season you’ve never lived through

and knowing exactly how it ends.

I haven’t seen your face.

I don’t know your name.

But this doesn’t feel like searching.

It feels like alignment—

quiet, inevitable,

already in motion long before I noticed it.

If there is a moment—

it won’t be a beginning.

No arrival. No sudden shift.

Just the absence of distance

that was never real to begin with.

Like stepping into something

that has been waiting

without waiting at all.

So I don’t rush it.

I don’t force meaning onto something

that has never required it.

I let it remain what it is—

unproven, unspoken,

and still—

unmistakably known.

Maybe that’s what this is.

Not hope. Not imagination.

Something steadier.

Like summer—

returning to a place

that never truly lost it.

Not Yet Met ..is a series

check it out I hope you enjoy