But You were the grace I didn’t know I’d needed
You stayed, you stayed
My voice cracks, and I let the words die. The ache in my chest sharpens, too much, too close. Because it’s Ivy. Every line. Every note. She’s in all of it, even the spaces between the chords. And I don’t know if I can write this song without crossing lines I promised I wouldn’t.
I drop my head back against the couch, guitar still in my lap, strings buzzing faintly beneath my fingertips. “Get it together, man,” I mutter. But even the sound of my own voice feels hollow.
The truth is, I don’t want to get it together. Not tonight. Tonight I want to give in, just once. To call her. To tell herto come over. To forget about rules and boundaries and do what my heart and body are begging for.
I swallow, shaking my head. No. That’s not who I am anymore. That’s not who I want to be.
But the old version of me, he’s right there in the shadows of my mind, smirking like he’s been waiting for this moment. He whispers that I’ll never be strong enough. That sooner or later, I’ll cave and ruin this relationship.
I grip the guitar tighter, knuckles white, and let the strings hum under the pressure.
“Not tonight,” I whisper. “I won’t let you win tonight.”
The words don’t make the ache disappear, but they hold me steady for a breath. Just one.
I set the guitar back in the corner and push off the couch, pacing again, slower this time. I can feel the war inside me, tugging both ways—between desire and discipline, love and lust, the old man and the new one.
Finally, I drop to my knees in the middle of the room. No music. No pretense. Just me and God in the silence.
“Help me,” I pray, voice breaking. “Help me want You more than I want her. Help me love her the way You do.”
The words hang heavy in the air, like they’re too big for the room. My shoulders sag under the weight of them.
I stay there until my knees ache, forehead pressed to the carpet, the quiet filling with something softer—peace, maybe. Not enough to erase the ache. But enough to remind me why I’m still fighting.
I climb back to my feet, heart still restless, body still humming with the absence of her. But there’s a steadiness too, faint but real. Enough to keep me standing when everything in me wants to fall.
I kill the lights and head for bed, whispering the same prayer again as I crawl under the covers.
“Help me love her the way You do”
It’s only been a week, but it feels like a year.
I’ve checked my watch so many times I’ve convinced myself the second hand is broken. My leg bounces against the bench I’m sitting on, nerves wound tight as guitar strings. Every car that pulls into the lot makes my chest lurch, only to fall again when it’s not hers.
I hate how much I’ve missed her. Or maybe I love it. Maybe this is what happens when you finally let someone in—you ache when they’re gone, even if it’s only for a little while.
I shove my hands in my pockets, then yank them out again. Fidget. Stretch. Pace a step, sit back down. I’m ridiculous. I know it. And I don’t even care.
Then, finally, I see her car turn in. My heart kicks so hard I swear it echoes in my ears. Before she’s even in park, I’m already moving. Practically jogging, which is not my style, but I couldn’t hold myself back if I tried.
She opens the door and barely gets one foot out before I’m there. “Hey…” she starts, but I scoop her up like she weighs nothing and spin her once, twice, her laughter spilling into the air.
“Gray!” she squeals between giggles, hands clutching at my shoulders. People are watching, I know they are, but I couldn’t care less. She’s here. She’s in my arms. And I feel alive again.
When I finally set her down, her cheeks are pink, her eyes wide with that sparkle that ruins me every time. I don’teven give her a chance to catch her breath. My hands frame her face, my thumbs brushing her cheeks, and I press my mouth to hers—firm, sure, like I’ve been waiting all my life for this exact moment.
The kiss isn’t long, but it’s enough to steal the air from both of us. When I pull back, I rest my forehead against hers, breathing her in.
“I’ve missed you,” I whisper, the words coming out rougher than I meant. My chest tightens, because it’s the truth, simple and raw. “So much.”
Her smile curves soft and sweet, her fingers curling in the collar of my shirt like she’s afraid to let go. “I missed you too.”
She looks like fall—at least, as much as fall exists in Texas. A lightweight purple sweater hangs loose against her frame, her black leggings tucked into sneakers, and her hair is braided over one shoulder in a way that makes it impossible for me not to stare. If the air had fully committed to the season, it would’ve been perfect. But this is Texas: seventy degrees in the shade, eighty if you walk ten steps too far. Still, with the sun hitting her just right, she could’ve walked straight out of a September postcard.
