I Love You in Ways Words Will Never Hold

It’s the look in your eyes. The way they soften when they meet mine, even in the quiet. Even in the distance that now lingers between us, like a shadow neither of us wanted but somehow still found its way here. I’ve tried to find the words to explain it—this love, this feeling, this ache that exists only because you do. But words have always fallen short.

And yet, I love that I can write about it.

I love that when the weight of longing presses against my ribs, I can spill my heart onto a page and let it bleed the things I can’t always say out loud. I love that even in the spaces between us, you exist in every sentence, every thought, every moment where my mind drifts into the softness of what we are, what we’ve always been.

Love like this isn’t something you find; it’s something you recognize. It’s something you feel in your bones before your mind even has the chance to understand it. And I knew. From the first time, I heard your voice, before I even saw you, before your eyes ever met mine—I knew.

I knew because love has never felt safe to me, but you did.

I knew because I’ve spent my whole life feeling like too much and not enough all at once, but with you, I was simply me. And that was enough.

I knew because even now, when distance stretches between us, when silence settles in the spaces where words used to be, I still carry you. In the way I reach for my AirPods in the morning, in the way I hum a song you once played for me, in the way I sit outside at night, watching the stars and pretending that somehow, you’re looking at the same sky.

I don’t know how to explain love like this, except to say that it’s in everything. It’s in the way your voice lingers in my mind long after we’ve spoken, the way I feel the warmth of your hand even when you’re not here to hold mine. It’s in the way my body knows you even in absence, in the way my heart still beats to the rhythm of yours.

I know we’re human. I know life gets in the way. I know love isn’t always soft and easy. But I also know that what we have isn’t fragile. It isn’t something that disappears the moment space stretches between us.

I don’t mind waiting.

Because love like ours isn’t made overnight. It’s built. It’s nurtured. It’s held together by whispered truths and quiet reassurances, by laughter and longing, by the kind of trust that doesn’t break just because the world gets loud.

I look forward to the life I’ve created for us in my mind.

A life where distance is nothing more than a memory, where the only silence between us is the comfortable kind, the kind that comes with knowing we don’t always need words to fill the space. A life of early morning teas and lazy Sunday afternoons, of soft music playing in the background as we exist in the simplest, most beautiful way—together.

I dream of nights spent curled up on the couch, taking turns choosing what to watch, pretending not to care when you pick something I don’t like but watching anyway because it’s you. I dream of falling asleep in your arms, of waking up to your sleepy voice murmuring something incoherent but soft, always soft.

I dream of a love that is not perfect but real. A love that bends but never breaks. A love that survives not because it has to, but because it chooses to.

You are the softest part of my story.

The part that exists in the quiet, in the spaces where my heart feels safest. You are the pause between my thoughts, the exhale after a long day, the place my soul returns to when the world feels too heavy.

I don’t know if you’ll ever read this.

I don’t know if these words will find their way to you, if you’ll see yourself in every sentence the way I see you in every moment of my life. But if you do—if somehow, this reaches you—I hope you know.

I hope you know that love like this doesn’t fade.

I hope you know that no matter the distance, no matter the silence, no matter the human imperfections that sometimes make us feel far away—I am here.

I am here, loving you in ways words will never hold.