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"Sometimes, it's not the grand places that feel magical.
It's a porch,
a quiet afternoon,
and someone who saves a piece of their world
just for you."
Dear Diary,
He asked if I wanted to come over today.
Not to go out,
not to meet people,
just to sit with him
on his back porch where the wind is softer
and the light falls like it's listening.
I said yes before my mind had time to interfere.
The gate creaked as I entered,
and for a moment, I felt like I was stepping into
a chapter I didn't know I'd been writing toward.
His porch wasn't fancy.
But it had charm in all the right corners —
an old rocking chair, a hammock,
and tiny paper stars hanging from the ceiling beams
like floating wishes.
"I make them when I can't sleep," he said,
gesturing to the hundreds of folded stars
dangling from string and drifting in the breeze.
"What do they mean?" I asked.
He shrugged,
but then smiled a little,
like he was about to hand me something sacred.
"Each one's a moment I didn't say out loud.
Something I felt.
Something I hoped.
Some are things I'm too scared to feel twice."
I looked up at the stars and wondered
if any of them had my name folded between the creases.
He handed me a small blank strip of paper.
"You should add one," he said,
his fingers brushing mine.
"Something only you would know how to write."
I took it.
And wrote:
"This is the moment I felt safe without needing to speak."
He read it, didn't say anything.
But he gently folded it for me,
added it to a string,
and hung it beside his.
We sat in silence after that.
The kind of silence that isn't empty,
but filled with mutual understanding —
like a secret language made of shared breath and glances.
When I left,
he walked me to the gate.
No kiss.
No grand goodbye.
Just his voice saying,
"You're always welcome here."
And I think that's the softest way anyone has ever held my heart.
Till tomorrow,
Wunor 🌙🌟🩷
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