Richie Owens

How Long: A Lament for Love and Time
Some words come like a whisper, others like a reckoning. This is somewhere in between—a hymn for the waiting, for the wondering, for those who stand in the dark hoping the dawn will find them.
It carries the weight of patience, of longing, of time slipping through fingers like river water. The question lingers, circling back on itself, like a prayer, a plea, or maybe just the way the wind speaks to the soul. There’s a heartbeat to it, steady, relentless, echoing like the ticking of a clock in a silent house.
Love moves through every breath, not just as a feeling, but as something tangible—something that wraps around the weary, something that pushes against the darkness like a candle in a cave. It exists beyond longing, beyond time, beyond the questions that have no answers.
Peace is not something passively received but something done, something made. It’s an action, a decision, a discipline. And the real test is choosing it every day, even when the world gives no reason to. The pull of uncertainty is constant, but the choice to stand in the center of it, unwavering, is the challenge.
The voice at the core of this reflection speaks from a quiet place, carrying both devotion and vulnerability. There’s a dream of never being apart, of casting away fear, of holding onto something real in a world that shifts like sand beneath the feet. It’s a confession, a surrender, an understanding that love and absence are two sides of the same ache.
There’s something holy in the waiting, something sacred in the asking. Maybe this isn’t about getting an answer at all, but about holding onto the question. Because sometimes, faith is just the willingness to keep speaking, even when the answer never comes.