I didn’t know what love was until everything beautiful disappeared— and you stayed. Not because I asked. Not because I deserved it. But because something in you recognized the storm in me and didn’t flinch. You didn’t run when I went silent. Didn’t retreat when I shut down. You just stayed— quiet, present, holding the air beside me like it was enough. And I hated it. Because I didn’t know how to be loved without earning it. Without bleeding first. I didn’t know how to be touched without proving I was worth the damage. But you never asked for proof. You just stayed. Through the silence, through the edge, through every time I told you to go— and didn’t mean it. You stayed. Not to fix me. Not to rescue me. Just to be there while I learned how to stay alive. You didn’t ask for softness, but you made it safe to be soft. You never told me I was strong. You just kept showing up on the days I wasn’t. And maybe that’s what broke me open— not your passion, but your patience. The quiet kind. The ...