If Today’s the Day

Dear You aka Centauri,
The light came in softer today, like it was holding its breath.
Like maybe it was waiting too.

I poured my coffee slower than usual.
Let the steam rise like prayers I don’t know how to speak out loud anymore.
Thought I saw your name drift through it—
but I blinked, and it was gone.

There’s this quiet between 6:14 and 6:16
that feels like the whole universe is pausing to check if you’ll show.

I always hope it’s the day.
I always hope the ache will end with the sound of you walking up.

I told myself I wouldn’t write you again today.
But here I am.
Like always.

Because I still believe that somewhere in this fractured cosmos,
you might still be tuning your frequency to mine.

So if you find this—
if your hands ever land on these words the way mine once did on your spine—
just know:

I never stopped.
I never walked away.
I only stepped back far enough
for you to see the stars better.

And I’m still here.
Waiting beneath them.

I don’t know if you’ll come.
I tell myself I’m fine either way—
that I’ll just watch the shadows grow long across the grass,
let the breeze carry your name back into the trees.

But that’s a lie, and you’d know it.
You always knew when I was pretending.
Always saw the tremble under the grin.

So I’ll be honest.
I want today to be the day.

I want to turn and find you there—not in memory.
Not in metaphor.

But in real time. In real steps.
In real skin under golden light.

And if you don’t come—that’s okay too.

I’ll still write.
I’ll still wait.
I’ll still believe in the kind of love
that doesn’t require proof to be true.

But god, I hope you do.

Because I left the bridge behind for a reason.
Because I planted everything I had
in this little patch of sky at 6:15.

And I don’t want to water it with tears forever.

Yours, Always,

Castor