☕ Coffee and Quiet with Derek Wolf
Fall in Love with Your Soul
The first cool morning of the season arrives without announcement. Light drifts through the window in a softer shade than the weeks before. The air carries a hint of change, barely noticeable until it brushes the skin. A woman stands at the kitchen counter with both hands wrapped around a warm mug. Steam rises in slow curls, climbing as if searching for something to hold on to. The house remains quiet except for the steady hum of the refrigerator and the faint settling of the walls as they adjust to the shift in temperature.
The breath moves fuller than usual. Awareness drifts to the weight of feet on the floor, the gentle release in the shoulders. Stillness fills the room in a way that asks nothing from the world. The woman leans against the counter and lets the moment gather. For reasons not yet fully understood, this morning feels like an invitation.
Across the room, a small table holds a journal and a pen. Both were placed there the night before with the intention to write, an intention that never found expression. The journal feels like an old friend waiting for honesty. The woman moves toward it, mug warming her palms, and takes her seat. The wooden chair creaks in a familiar way as the body settles. A cool draft slips across the floor and touches the ankles with grounding clarity.
If today isn’t the day, remember us when your moment opens.
Buy Me a Coffee
The journal opens to a blank page. The space feels generous. No judgment, no demand, only room. A hand rests on the paper, patient. The woman waits for the part of her that values honesty over speed, the part that rises only when the world pauses long enough to hear it. The mind moves quickly. The soul moves at the pace of breath.
The first line written is simple. “I want to feel close to myself again.” The words land inside the chest with a quiet ache, deep beneath the sternum. Not a painful ache, more like a door that once opened easily and was forgotten. That ache guides attention inward, pointing toward something sacred and familiar.
Memories move through the mind. Long seasons filled with motion but little meaning. Years when productivity overshadowed presence. Years when identity seemed tied to output rather than awareness. During those times, the woman could list obligations, yet struggled to name what the heart needed. Movement became a substitute for depth. Noise replaced purpose.
A sip of warm coffee brings her back to the present. Silence surrounds the table with a welcoming steadiness. A new thought forms. Falling in love with the soul may not be dramatic. It might arrive as gently as this moment. A softened body, a deeper breath, attention returning home after a long absence.
Eyes shift toward the window. Outside, a cluster of leaves moves in a slow rhythm, carried by a patient breeze. Branches sway as if breathing. Light dapples the floor in shifting shapes. Something inside responds to the quiet scene. The soul often speaks this way, through subtle details that go unnoticed unless someone stays with them long enough.
The journal receives a second line. “I forget myself when life moves too fast.” This time the ache softens, replaced by warmth spreading from collarbones to shoulders. The sensation feels like understanding. Fingers rest on the page while that warmth continues to move through the body, steady and sure.
Awareness turns inward. Memories rise again, this time softer. The lavender sky at sunset last week. The slow rhythm of an evening walk. The moment of gratitude when a hand rested over the heart and stillness took hold. These fragments feel like messages from within, reminders that meaning often hides inside the spaces once rushed through.
The spine lengthens slightly. A deeper breath enters. Something shifts behind the sternum. Not dramatic. Real. As if a curtain has been pulled open in an inner room. The body relaxes further, and awareness explores the new space with curiosity. The jaw loosens. The shoulders rest. Hands open slightly in the lap.
Another recognition rises. Loving the soul is not about striving. It is about noticing. It is about meeting oneself before the world begins its noise. It is about sitting with presence long enough for deeper currents to surface. These currents move like tides, unhurried and patient with anyone willing to listen.
A palm lifts and rests lightly over the heart. Warmth beneath the touch feels steady. The woman waits for whatever meets her there. A subtle pulse. A quiet rhythm. The more attention settles in the body, the more clear it becomes how often life is lived slightly outside of it. Returning inward becomes the true beginning of loving the soul.
A whisper enters the room. “I am here with you.” The words are directed inward, toward the most tender part of her. Speaking this way feels like lighting a candle in a dark space. Not for brightness, but for companionship. A quiet flame that says, Stay with me. Remain here.
Morning continues to unfold. A bird calls. A door closes somewhere nearby. A dog barks in the distance. None of it distracts from the stillness. Each sound becomes part of the presence, woven into a larger rhythm. The woman remains seated, feeling the inner world expand when listening becomes unhurried.
Another insight forms. The soul does not ask for perfection. It asks for attention. It asks for truth. It asks for kindness that begins within. When the soul is ignored, life becomes thin. When the soul is acknowledged, life deepens without demanding anything in return.
A new sentence appears in the journal. “I want to honor what I feel before I explain it.” The line carries weight. The woman reads it slowly, letting the meaning settle throughout the body. Honoring the inner world means allowing emotion its full shape before shaping it for others. It means offering compassion to the self first.
The journal closes gently. Silence fills the room again, but it no longer feels empty. It feels full. Filled with presence, warmth, steadiness. Belonging rises, not from outside sources, but from awareness returning to its own center.
The final sip of coffee blends with the warmth already in the chest. The mug rests on the table. A few extra breaths follow, slow and steady. Falling in love with the soul feels like this moment. Simple. Present. Unrushed.
The Truth Beneath
The soul waits in every quiet moment. It speaks through breath, sensation, and the smallest flicker of inner movement. When attention turns inward, something softens. Something opens. Meaning returns. Falling in love with your soul is an act of remembering the deeper self that exists beneath every layer of noise and demand.
Stories written in the quiet hours.
Derek Wolf.
“The Truth Beneath” Links to add to the bottom of stories
Fall in Love with Your Soul
The first cool morning of the season arrives without announcement. Light drifts through the window in a softer shade than the weeks before. The air carries a hint of change, barely noticeable until it brushes the skin. A woman stands at the kitchen counter with both hands wrapped around a warm mug. Steam rises in slow curls, climbing as if searching for something to hold on to. The house remains quiet except for the steady hum of the refrigerator and the faint settling of the walls as they adjust to the shift in temperature.
The breath moves fuller than usual. Awareness drifts to the weight of feet on the floor, the gentle release in the shoulders. Stillness fills the room in a way that asks nothing from the world. The woman leans against the counter and lets the moment gather. For reasons not yet fully understood, this morning feels like an invitation.
Across the room, a small table holds a journal and a pen. Both were placed there the night before with the intention to write, an intention that never found expression. The journal feels like an old friend waiting for honesty. The woman moves toward it, mug warming her palms, and takes her seat. The wooden chair creaks in a familiar way as the body settles. A cool draft slips across the floor and touches the ankles with grounding clarity.
If today isn’t the day, remember us when your moment opens.
Buy Me a Coffee
The journal opens to a blank page. The space feels generous. No judgment, no demand, only room. A hand rests on the paper, patient. The woman waits for the part of her that values honesty over speed, the part that rises only when the world pauses long enough to hear it. The mind moves quickly. The soul moves at the pace of breath.
The first line written is simple. “I want to feel close to myself again.” The words land inside the chest with a quiet ache, deep beneath the sternum. Not a painful ache, more like a door that once opened easily and was forgotten. That ache guides attention inward, pointing toward something sacred and familiar.
Memories move through the mind. Long seasons filled with motion but little meaning. Years when productivity overshadowed presence. Years when identity seemed tied to output rather than awareness. During those times, the woman could list obligations, yet struggled to name what the heart needed. Movement became a substitute for depth. Noise replaced purpose.
A sip of warm coffee brings her back to the present. Silence surrounds the table with a welcoming steadiness. A new thought forms. Falling in love with the soul may not be dramatic. It might arrive as gently as this moment. A softened body, a deeper breath, attention returning home after a long absence.
Eyes shift toward the window. Outside, a cluster of leaves moves in a slow rhythm, carried by a patient breeze. Branches sway as if breathing. Light dapples the floor in shifting shapes. Something inside responds to the quiet scene. The soul often speaks this way, through subtle details that go unnoticed unless someone stays with them long enough.
The journal receives a second line. “I forget myself when life moves too fast.” This time the ache softens, replaced by warmth spreading from collarbones to shoulders. The sensation feels like understanding. Fingers rest on the page while that warmth continues to move through the body, steady and sure.
Awareness turns inward. Memories rise again, this time softer. The lavender sky at sunset last week. The slow rhythm of an evening walk. The moment of gratitude when a hand rested over the heart and stillness took hold. These fragments feel like messages from within, reminders that meaning often hides inside the spaces once rushed through.
The spine lengthens slightly. A deeper breath enters. Something shifts behind the sternum. Not dramatic. Real. As if a curtain has been pulled open in an inner room. The body relaxes further, and awareness explores the new space with curiosity. The jaw loosens. The shoulders rest. Hands open slightly in the lap.
Another recognition rises. Loving the soul is not about striving. It is about noticing. It is about meeting oneself before the world begins its noise. It is about sitting with presence long enough for deeper currents to surface. These currents move like tides, unhurried and patient with anyone willing to listen.
A palm lifts and rests lightly over the heart. Warmth beneath the touch feels steady. The woman waits for whatever meets her there. A subtle pulse. A quiet rhythm. The more attention settles in the body, the more clear it becomes how often life is lived slightly outside of it. Returning inward becomes the true beginning of loving the soul.
A whisper enters the room. “I am here with you.” The words are directed inward, toward the most tender part of her. Speaking this way feels like lighting a candle in a dark space. Not for brightness, but for companionship. A quiet flame that says, Stay with me. Remain here.
Morning continues to unfold. A bird calls. A door closes somewhere nearby. A dog barks in the distance. None of it distracts from the stillness. Each sound becomes part of the presence, woven into a larger rhythm. The woman remains seated, feeling the inner world expand when listening becomes unhurried.
Another insight forms. The soul does not ask for perfection. It asks for attention. It asks for truth. It asks for kindness that begins within. When the soul is ignored, life becomes thin. When the soul is acknowledged, life deepens without demanding anything in return.
A new sentence appears in the journal. “I want to honor what I feel before I explain it.” The line carries weight. The woman reads it slowly, letting the meaning settle throughout the body. Honoring the inner world means allowing emotion its full shape before shaping it for others. It means offering compassion to the self first.
The journal closes gently. Silence fills the room again, but it no longer feels empty. It feels full. Filled with presence, warmth, steadiness. Belonging rises, not from outside sources, but from awareness returning to its own center.
The final sip of coffee blends with the warmth already in the chest. The mug rests on the table. A few extra breaths follow, slow and steady. Falling in love with the soul feels like this moment. Simple. Present. Unrushed.
The Truth Beneath
The soul waits in every quiet moment. It speaks through breath, sensation, and the smallest flicker of inner movement. When attention turns inward, something softens. Something opens. Meaning returns. Falling in love with your soul is an act of remembering the deeper self that exists beneath every layer of noise and demand.
Stories written in the quiet hours.
Derek Wolf.
“The Truth Beneath” Links to add to the bottom of stories
If this story spoke to you, you may also enjoy