Let’s Meet Again, Like Drops Meet Drops

Let’s meet again,
like drops meet drops —
silently, naturally,
without asking why,
without remembering when.

Let’s meet the way
rain finds sunlight
and makes a promise
without words,
a rainbow unplanned,
an understanding unspoken.

Let’s meet again,
like thoughts that bloom in the mind
before they become words,
like whispers that rise in the heart
before they find their sound.

Let’s meet again,
like moonlight spreads for the moon,
not asking permission,
not seeking applause,
just shining —
because it must.

Let’s meet again
like letters find their way
onto an empty page —
hesitant at first,
then unstoppable,
as though silence itself
was meant to speak.

Let’s meet again,
like drops meet drops.


---

Let’s walk back, you and I,
to that time
when clocks had softer hands,
when time did not chase us
and we did not chase it.

Let’s return to the hour
when our hearts knew
the art of waiting —
when the world still breathed
in verses and pauses,
not deadlines and alerts.

Let’s go back
to the first time
our eyes met and didn’t know
what meeting meant —
to that small eternity
between two breaths,
where something unnamed began.

Let’s go back
to that first conversation
that felt less like words
and more like recognition —
like a tune we’d both heard
long before birth.

Let’s go back,
before we became
our own ghosts,
haunting what-ifs,
scrolling through versions
of who we might have been.

Let’s return
to the laughter that didn’t need
to be curated,
to the silence
that didn’t need
to be explained.

Let’s meet again,
like drops meet drops —
softly, inevitably,
knowing that even in falling
there is joining,
that even in separation
there is a hidden union.


---

Do you remember
how sunlight once lingered
on our skin
as if the day itself
was listening?

Do you remember
how the wind would shift
just when we looked away,
as if to remind us
that everything seen
can also vanish?

Do you remember
the old bench by the tree,
how time sat with us,
cross-legged,
quietly watching
our stories unfold?

We didn’t talk about tomorrow then.
We didn’t weigh the worth
of each moment.
We just existed —
like sky and horizon,
separate yet one.


---

Now, we walk
with phones full of captured skies,
but not enough time
to look up.

We send each other
tiny fragments of meaning —
texts, memes, emojis,
half-felt hellos —
and call it connection.

But deep down,
we know the truth —
the digital doesn’t dissolve distance;
it disguises it.

We are near,
but not present.
We are reachable,
but rarely touched.

So come,
let’s meet again,
not in a chat,
not in a thread,
not through a glowing screen
that remembers too much,
but in a pause —
in that sacred, fragile pause
where souls still recognize each other.

Let’s meet again,
like rain meets sunlight.


---

Let us not plan it.
Let it happen
the way rivers find the sea —
through patience,
through persistence,
through the quiet refusal
to stop flowing.

Maybe we’ll meet
at the corner of memory and hope,
where the past doesn’t ache anymore,
and the future
feels like forgiveness.

Maybe we’ll meet
on a day
when the city forgets its noise,
when the air smells of old songs
and the streets hum
like verses half-remembered.

Maybe we’ll meet
not to rekindle,
but to understand
how far we’ve both come,
how much we’ve shed
to stand lighter, freer.

Let’s meet again,
like drops meet drops —
complete only when together,
beautiful even when apart.


---

And when we do,
don’t bring flowers,
bring the stories
you’ve kept from yourself.

Tell me of the winters
that tried to silence you,
and the mornings
you rose anyway.

Tell me of the strangers
who stayed for a while
and left quietly,
and how you learned
to love the emptiness they left.

Tell me of the roads
you took without knowing
where they led,
and how some turns
brought you closer to yourself.

And I’ll tell you
how I stopped counting
the days since you left,
because time became
just another name for longing.


---

In our new meeting,
there will be no beginning,
no ending.
Only a continuation —
of something that never really stopped.

We’ll speak softly,
like the rain does to the earth,
like dawn does to the dark —
not to erase it,
but to make it visible.

We’ll laugh
like children finding puddles again,
unafraid of getting wet,
of being seen,
of being alive.

We’ll walk together
through the market of moments —
each one fleeting,
each one precious.
And perhaps,
somewhere between goodbye and hello,
we’ll remember what it means
to truly belong.

Let’s meet again,
like drops meet drops.


---

Let’s not promise forever.
Let’s promise presence.
Let’s not seek perfection.
Let’s seek peace.

Let’s not rebuild
what was broken —
let’s grow something new
from its dust.

Because some things
are not meant to return
as they were —
they’re meant to return
as reminders
of what still breathes within us.

Let’s meet again,
like ideas meet silence —
quietly,
with reverence,
with the grace
of understanding.


---

And when we part again —
as all meetings must end —
let it be without sorrow.
Let the world whisper,
“They met beautifully.”

Let our footprints remain
on the soft soil of memory,
not as weight,
but as rhythm.

Let the rain
carry our reflections
back into the earth,
so that someday,
somewhere,
two other souls may meet
and feel the same stillness.

Let’s meet again,
like drops meet drops —
where falling is not loss,
but union;
where ending
is only another form
of beginning.


---

Let’s meet again,
beneath no clock,
under no sky that rushes.
Let’s meet again,
as if time itself paused
to watch us breathe.

Let’s meet again,
like drops meet drops —
as effortlessly,
as truthfully,
as if we never stopped.