If Time Would Let Us

 

If Time Would Let Us
By Theresa Williams Hudson
 
I wish we could wake
each morning forever—
the soft light on your face,
your breath beside mine,
the world still quiet,
just us.
 
But time is a thief
with gentle hands,
unfolding the hours
like pages we didn’t mean to turn.
 
I watch you in moments—
your laugh,
the way your eyes still find mine
in a crowded room,
the way your hand finds mine
in the dark.
 
And I think—
what if this is all we get?
 
What if this love,
this life,
was always a flame meant to flicker
just long enough
to change everything it touched?
 
Time is slowing.
Time is ending.
And still, I’d choose you
in every hour we’re given.
 
Even in the leaving,
you’re worth the ache.
Even in the silence,
you echo.
 
If time would let us,
I’d never let you go.
But if it must,
then let me love you
so fiercely
you feel me
even in the quiet after.
 
 
About the Poem
 
This past Saturday, November 29, marked ten years since I lost a dear friend in a car accident. He and I met through this blog. What began as comments and emails grew into an everyday friendship—we texted constantly, starting each morning with a “good morning” and ending each night with “I love you.”
 
We never got the chance to meet in person, though we had planned to. My next academic conference was going to bring me to his city, and we were both excited to finally see each other face to face. Until then, our friendship lived in words—words that carried us through laughter, struggles, and the simple comfort of daily check-ins.
 
His life had been unbearably difficult. When he came out, his family disowned him. The boyfriend who had inspired him to come out abandoned him when he needed love most. He suffered night terrors almost every evening, haunted by the cruel voices planted in him by those who should have cared for him. And yet, he was one of the sweetest souls I’ve ever known. He loved browsing the greeting card aisle, picking out cards that reminded him of friends, and sending them just because. I still have many of those cards and treasure them. He even sent cards to his family, though they always came back unopened—sometimes with hateful notes scrawled across them.
 
But in the months before his death, things were finally turning around. He had a boyfriend who loved him deeply, a man who planned to propose to him on Christmas morning. He had a good job, was preparing to move back near his partner, and was about to begin graduate school. For the first time in a long time, his life was on the verge of stability, love, and happiness. And then, tragedy took him away.
 
Though he was in my life for only a short time, his influence was profound. He gave me strength and courage when I needed it most. Once, when I was nervous about meeting someone I’d connected with online, he encouraged me to take the chance. I did, and that leap became a lasting relationship with a man who was not only a boyfriend, but also a fellow scholar and Episcopal priest, someone I could talk to about both history and faith. That never would have happened without my friend urging me to step out of my comfort zone.
 
After his death, I couldn’t even say his name without bursting into tears. For years, grief made his memory almost too heavy to bear. Yet time, though it took him from me, also left behind echoes—his laughter, his words of encouragement, his insistence that life is meant to be embraced. Today, I keep a framed picture of him in my living room. When I hesitate at the edge of change, I look at that picture, and I can almost hear him telling me again: take the chance.
 
Theresa Williams Hudson’s poem captures the ache of this anniversary perfectly. “But time is a thief with gentle hands, unfolding the hours like pages we didn’t mean to turn.” That’s how it felt—like the story of his life was moving toward hope, only to have the pages snatched away before he could finish the chapter. Her words—“what if this love, this life, was always a flame meant to flicker just long enough to change everything it touched?”—remind me that though his flame was short, it changed me forever.

Hudson ends with: “Even in the leaving, you’re worth the ache. Even in the silence, you echo.” That is exactly how I remember my friend. Even ten years later, he is worth every ache of grief. And even in the silence of his absence, he still echoes in my life—in kindness, in courage, and in love. He is the one who encouraged me to take the risk of applying for the job in Vermont, the one decision that reshaped my life and brought me here. Every time I step into a new chapter, I carry his voice with me. If time would have let us, I would never have let him go. Since it didn’t, I live more fully because of him.

About the Poet
 
Theresa Williams Hudson is a contemporary poet whose work often explores love, loss, and the passing of time. Writing in free verse, she draws on intimate moments and everyday images to capture emotions that feel both deeply personal and universally resonant. Her poetry has circulated widely online, where its honesty and tenderness have found a devoted readership. “If Time Would Let Us” exemplifies her ability to distill profound truths into lyrical simplicity, reminding us that even the most fleeting connections can echo long after time has moved on.