I thought love was a game I kept losing.
I gave and gave, only to be left empty.
I chased moments, people, and promises—until chasing became tiring, and hoping became a wound I no longer wanted to reopen.
I stopped searching.
I told myself I was okay being alone.
Then, I found you.
Not in a grand moment.
Not with loud fireworks or a scene straight out of a movie.
But in the stillness—at a time I felt most lost.
When everything felt too heavy and I didn’t know where to go, there you were.
Your presence wasn’t pressure—it was peace.
With you, I didn’t have to pretend.
With you, I could finally breathe… and just be me.
You listened to my silence.
You understood the weight behind my laughter.
You saw the scars I tried to hide—and you didn’t flinch.
You never asked me to heal faster.
You simply stayed, even when I wasn’t easy to stay for.
And maybe that's what love is—not the loud declarations or the dramatic chase, but the gentle unfolding of two souls that feel like home.
You were an answered prayer.
Not the kind I begged for in desperation,
but the one quietly whispered in my loneliest nights—when all I asked for was someone who‘d choose to understand me.
You never tried to fix me.
You never rushed my healing.
You simply stood beside me, and made the dark less scary.
With you, love became soft.
It became quiet mornings,
unrushed conversations,
shared glances that said everything without needing a word.
And maybe that‘s what love truly is—someone who stays, even when they‘ve seen the parts of you, you were afraid were unlovable.
Someone who doesn‘t ask you to shrink or shine, but instead, makes room for every version of you.
You are that someone.
My calm in the chaos.
My warmth in the cold.
The quiet answer to every silent longing I‘ve buried.
You were an answered prayer—loving you feels like finally coming home.
