breathtaking

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 kind that doesn’t need a name.

You were kind

in a world that taught me kindness was bait.

And I didn’t trust it.

I kept waiting for the cost.

Kept flinching like love meant withdrawal.

But you didn’t leave.

Not when I froze.

Not when I couldn’t speak.

Not when I said

I don’t know how to love right now.

You said—

then we’ll just breathe.

And we did.

We did.

You found me

at the edge of something I couldn’t come back from.

And you didn’t pull me forward.

You just sat beside me

and waited for the part of me

that still wanted to try.

You never asked me to bloom.

You never demanded a timeline.

You just let me be exactly where I was—

even if it was nowhere.

And when I was ashamed of that,

you didn’t shame me back.

You said,

I’ve got you.

You said,

you don’t owe me your healing.

You said,

you don’t have to be okay to be loved.

And I didn’t know how to believe you,

but something in me did.

The part that kept waking up.

The part that still reached for your hand

even in dreams.

The part that survived

because someone stayed.

Some days I still forget how to be touched.

Still brace when you get too close.

Still scan your silence

for signs of goodbye.

But you never turn it into punishment.

You never ask for more

than what I can give.

You just stay.

Not loudly.

Not endlessly.

Just one moment at a time.

And somehow,

that’s everything.

You show up

when there’s nothing left to hold

but the version of me

that isn’t ready.

You hold that too.

Not to save it.

Not to shape it.

Just to prove

that love doesn’t always knock down doors.

Sometimes it just waits

on the other side.

And never leaves.