NurseSheGirl

July 12, 2026

There is a quiet tale that’s told,
of kindred souls through time enrolled.
That every heart, if fate agrees,
meets a soul three times with ease.

The first encounter drifts on by,
like fleeting clouds across the sky.
Its meaning hides from eager eyes,
beneath the hush of small goodbyes.

You cross each other’s winding way
like distant stars at break of day.
A smile…glance…a voice…a name,
then life resumes, yet not the same.

For years you’ll scarcely understand
the echo left by fate’s own hand.
A strange familiarity grows,
though neither heart yet truly knows.

The second meeting shakes your soul.
It breaks apart what once felt whole.
It comes before you’re both prepared,
with truths too heavy to be shared.

Here love is born, yet incomplete,
where joy and sorrow often meet.
Its season comes before its time,
a lesson written line by line.

You stand as mirrors, face to face,
reflecting every hidden place.
The wounds unspoken, fears concealed,
until at last they’re slowly healed.

You teach of courage, grace, and pain,
of letting go and loving again.
Some journeys end, some still remain,
yet neither heart escapes unchanged.

But then there comes the meeting three,
the one that sets the spirit free.
Not every soul will reach this shore,
though many search forevermore.

It waits beyond the reach of pride,
where fear and doubt no longer hide.
Beyond the selves you used to be,
it waits with quiet certainty.

And when at last your paths align,
there is no race against the time.
No desperate plea, no trembling fear,
for both already know you’re here.

You know each other at first sight,
as dawn remembers morning light.
Not by the faces time has worn,
but by the place where souls are born.

Your hearts recall what minds forgot,
the thread that time could sever not.
The years no longer feel unkind;
their purpose finally intertwined.

The miles that seemed too vast to cross
become the map, not just the loss.
Each winding road, each ache you knew,
was quietly leading back to you.

Perhaps that’s why some strangers seem
like long forgotten youthful dreams.
Why certain eyes feel safe somehow,
before a single spoken vow.

Perhaps your soul has always known
the place it someday would call home.
Or that your heart has simply been
remembering where, or why, and when.

And maybe love is not the art
of finding someone to restart.
Maybe, once in a precious while,
it circles back another mile.

Until one day, with softened grace,
you meet again in time and place.
And all along, through every bend,
you were the soul you’d meet again.