Stuck While in Motion
Some stories never become chapters. Some people were never meant to stay. And some loves, if we’re honest, were never supposed to begin. But what do we do when our heart remembers someone long after our life has moved on? This story might speak for more of us than we’d like to admit.
A Story Too Close to Home
Ethan was a faithful man.
A husband. A father. Someone who chose the right things, even when they didn’t always feel like the easiest ones.
He wasn’t unfaithful. He wasn’t reckless. But he was human.
Years ago, he worked alongside Tracy—a woman he never touched, never kissed, and never pursued. But the emotional chemistry? It was undeniable. They were aligned in too many subtle, powerful ways. Long conversations. Safe glances. Shared moments no one else noticed. But Ethan was already in a relationship with Michelle, the woman who would become his wife. He made the choice to honor that path. Still… Tracy remained in his thoughts, like a quiet echo in an empty hallway.
One night, years later, Ethan stumbled across an old poem he’d written in a leather notebook—the kind of writing you only do when you’re processing something too deep for conversation.
The One I Never Held
by Ethan (or maybe, by all of us at some point)
I see you in the corners still,
Of dreams I never meant to build.
A ghost beneath my quiet skin,
A whisper where my thoughts begin.
You came like autumn in the spring,
A subtle shift, a shadowed wing.
No vows were made, no fingers grazed,
But still you haunt my yesterdays.
I never touched you—not for lack
Of want, but for the tethered track
My life had taken long before
You ever knocked upon my door.
We laughed in safe, familiar ways,
Kept secrets that we dared not phrase.
You never knew how deep it went—
The ache beneath the compliment.
I’m spoken for. I chose the path
That promised peace and spared me wrath.
And yet, some nights, your name still rings
Like bells beneath forgotten things.
You aged with grace inside my mind,
A memory I could not unwind.
What would we be? I’ll never know.
You stayed the seed I couldn’t sow.
I carry you in silent weight,
Not love—but something tangled, great.
A what-if dressed in Sunday best,
That never let my spirit rest.
And though my days belong to her,
My soul recalls what might’ve stirred.
The strangest part I can’t defend:
You never started—yet won’t end.
Let’s Talk About the Truth Behind the Ache
This kind of emotional entanglement is real. And for many believers, it brings deep tension: How do we process feelings for someone we shouldn’t feel connected to anymore? How do we honor God and still be honest about our memories?
“Entanglement~ Emotional entanglement is when your feelings start writing love stories your life can’t legally live out.”~ Jay Wilson Jr.
The Christian Perspective: Holding the Line Between Heart and Covenant
Let’s be clear: emotional infidelity is real.
Jesus says in Matthew 5:28 that “anyone who looks at a woman lustfully has already committed adultery with her in his heart.” That’s not just about lust. It’s about the meditations of the heart.
You can be physically faithful and emotionally compromised.
But here’s the grace—we don’t need to shame ourselves for human emotions. We take those emotions captive (2 Corinthians 10:5). We bring them to the cross. We confess, surrender, and renew our minds.
Here’s how we navigate this tension as followers of Christ:
1. Acknowledge the Emotion Honestly (But Don’t Nurture It)
Feelings aren’t sin. Feeding them and acting on them is.
Ethan never acted. But he wrote a poem. He wrestled. He processed. That’s healthy. Journaling, confessing to a trusted mentor or counselor, or bringing it to God in prayer is the first step to release. Also, being transparent with your spouse (as hard as that may be) is liberating and conscience-clearing.
2. Stay Rooted in Your Commitments
Feelings are temporary. Vows are not.
If you’re married or committed to someone, your covenant must override your curiosity. We don’t chase butterflies. We chase holiness. Because feelings fade, but faithfulness endures
3. Protect Your Mind and Boundaries
Don’t feed memories. Don’t revisit old texts, emails, or photos. Don’t follow them on social media “just to see how they’re doing.” Cut off the access points. Close the emotional portals. If you’re married, share that struggle with your spouse carefully and wisely—or with a trusted counselor or pastor instead.
4. Let God Transform the “What If” into “Thank God”
Yes, there’s a version of your life that might’ve looked different. But that doesn’t mean it would’ve been better.
God doesn’t just call us to love—He calls us to love the right way, in the right time, with the right person. You’re not missing out when you’re walking in obedience. You’re choosing peace over fantasy. Purpose over passion.
5. Pray for Freedom—Then Walk in It
Let your prayer be:
“God, take back the pieces of my heart that I gave away in secret.
Help me love well where I am, and release what never was.
Free me from the weight of what-ifs, and plant me in what is.”
Final Words
Some love stories aren’t about romance.
They’re about sacrifice. About choosing what’s right when what’s tempting feels poetic. If someone lives in your mind but not in your present, maybe it’s time to grieve them. To bury the “almost.” To thank God for keeping you from something that would’ve complicated your calling. You don’t need to hold every hand that feels familiar. Sometimes, obedience means letting go of the one you never held.
Until next time, remember—don’t just live by default. Live by design. God’s design.
Extended Cut of Ethans Story
Ethan sat at the edge of his desk, the familiar hum of the office after hours filling the space like white noise. Everyone else had gone home. The lights were dimmed, except for the soft glow from his desk lamp and the cursor blinking on a half-written email. His hand hovered above the keyboard, unsure whether to hit send or just delete the whole thing.
It was to her.
Of course it was.
He hadn’t seen Tracy in three years. He had transferred departments and moved on with life, but tonight, her name had slipped out of the folds of memory like smoke through a crack in the wall. All it took was an old song on the radio—one of those tracks that played on repeat during the summer they worked late hours together, laughing too easily and lingering too long at coffee breaks.
Ethan was married now. He loved Michelle—truly, fully. She was everything stable, beautiful, kind, and real. She had given him Three children and a home full of warmth. Yet somehow, Tracy had never fully left. She was the book he never finished, the road he never traveled.
He opened the drawer and pulled out the old leather notebook he’d stopped writing in the year he got married. His fingers brushed against the cover like it was a relic. Inside, pages of thoughts, prayers, and confessions. Some are half-finished. One, complete. A poem he’d written and never shown anyone—not even Michelle.
He read it aloud softly, like a prayer whispered into the wind.
⸻
I see you in the corners still,
Of dreams I never meant to build.
A ghost beneath my quiet skin,
A whisper where my thoughts begin.
You came like autumn in the spring,
A subtle shift, a shadowed wing.
No vows were made, no fingers grazed,
But still you haunt my yesterdays.
I never touched you—not for lack
Of want, but for the tethered track
My life had taken long before
You ever knocked upon my door.
We laughed in safe, familiar ways,
Kept secrets that we dared not phrase.
You never knew how deep it went—
The ache beneath the compliment.
I’m spoken for. I chose the path
That promised peace and spared me wrath.
And yet, some nights, your name still rings
Like bells beneath forgotten things.
You aged with grace inside my mind,
A memory I could not unwind.
What would we be? I’ll never know.
You stayed the seed I couldn’t sow.
I carry you in silent weight,
Not love—but something tangled, great.
A what-if dressed in Sunday best,
That never let my spirit rest.
And though my days belong to her,
My soul recalls what might’ve stirred.
The strangest part I can’t defend:
You never started—yet won’t end.
⸻
He closed the book, holding it against his chest like it still breathed.
Tracy had never been more than a friend. Never crossed the line. But there were glances, pauses, questions that hung in the air too long. He knew it. She knew it. And somehow, that was what made it worse. They had buried it alive, and it kept whispering from underground.
His phone buzzed. Michelle texted, “ I can’t wait to see you tonight. The girls drew you pictures. Hurry home.”
He smiled.
He stood, placing the notebook back into the drawer. He didn’t delete the email. He didn’t send it either. He just closed the tab.
Not every story needs a chapter.
Some just need a period.
He walked into the night, his footsteps blending with the silence, the poem echoing in his heart—forever unread but never forgotten.
