You
saw it before I felt it
the quiet way you carried light,
like something sacred had chosen you
long before I ever could.
I can see that you’re a mother in the making,
not in years, but in the way you hold the world
soft, patient, like your hands already know
how to fix what hasn’t broken yet.
Your eyes…
they’re not just beautiful, no
they’re burning in passion and delightful like the moon,
steady, distant, pulling tides inside of me
I never learned how to control.
And God, I loved you loudly in silence.
I stood beside you like a friend,
laughed when I should’ve confessed,
spoke in half-truths and safe words
because loving you felt too real
to risk turning into something fragile.
You deserved something that stays.
Not a storm, not a spark that dies
but something rooted, something patient,
something that doesn’t forget how to breathe
when things get quiet.
So I loved you in restraint.
In glances that lasted a second too long,
in steps slowed just to walk beside you,
in the way my voice softened
without asking for permission.
Maybe you knew.
Maybe you didn’t.
But I swear
every version of love I could’ve given you
lived inside me all at once,
and still…
I chose to keep it whole
rather than risk breaking it in your hands.
Because some loves
aren’t meant to be proven
just carried.