u/StormBornBear

​

There are some things I’ve been carrying quietly since I told you how I feel, and I think I need to put them into words—not because I’m asking anything of you, but because I want you to understand why I said what I said.

When you told me what you did, something in me felt as though the stars had briefly fallen into alignment. I couldn’t bear the thought of you walking away from that moment believing the things you’ve sometimes believed about yourself—that you are difficult to love, that you are somehow unworthy of being chosen, or that love is something you have to earn.

How could I know how I feel about you and keep that from you?

I wanted you to know that there is someone in this world who sees you and loves you simply for being you. Not because of what you can give me. Not because I expect something in return. Not because I need you to become anything different. Just you. As you are.

I know talking about feelings isn't easy for you, and I never expected some grand conversation or declaration in return. I wasn't asking you to answer me. I wasn't asking you to change anything between us. I thought, perhaps naively, that I could simply tell you the truth of my heart and let it rest there.

And maybe that's why I'm struggling a little now.

Things feel different. A little less soft somehow. A little more careful. Maybe I'm imagining it. Maybe your life has simply been chaotic, and the timing of my confession couldn't have been worse. I don't know. And I don't want to mistake your silence for something it isn't.

So I'm not asking you to explain yourself to me. I'm not asking you to reassure me. I respect your silence, and I respect whatever you are carrying right now. If you're not in a place where you can talk about any of this, I understand.

But I would be lying if I said I haven't wondered whether telling you was a mistake.

Sometimes I wonder if I should have kept it tucked away somewhere inside me indefinitely. If I somehow took this unnamed, beautiful thing we have and placed too much weight upon it simply by giving my feelings a name.

I hope I didn't.

Because I can't regret loving you. I can only regret that telling you may have made something that felt effortless suddenly feel complicated.

And I don't want to change gears. I don't want to pick up speed. I don't want to push this toward some destination it was never ready to reach. I don't need a promise, a decision, or a definition. I don't need you to suddenly make room in your life for something you aren't ready for.

I just want to keep being here.

Patiently. Gently. Without asking you to move any faster than you want to move.

The truth is, I don't know how you feel about me. And there is a quiet sadness in accepting that you may never feel what I feel. I won't pretend that wouldn't hurt. It would. But loving you was never supposed to be a transaction where I give you my heart and wait for yours in return.

If you don't love me the way I love you, then I will have to learn how to live with that truth.

But I won't turn my love into resentment simply because it wasn't returned.

I think that's part of what it means to love someone freely.

And more than anything, I want you to be happy.

I know I only know the pieces of your life you've chosen to share with me. I would never presume to understand everything happening behind the scenes, or tell you what you should do with your life. But I hear you when you tell me that you're unhappy. I hear how deeply you've wanted something different. And it breaks my heart to imagine you remaining somewhere that makes you feel small or unloved simply because leaving feels impossible.

You deserve your dream.

You deserve peace.

You deserve to wake up one day and realize that the life you're living is one you actually want.

And if I'm not part of that life, then I'll have to make peace with that too.

I mean that.

I would rather see you happy from a distance than have you stay miserable just to keep me close.

That doesn't mean I'm giving up on you. It doesn't mean I'm walking away. It means that whatever happens, I want your happiness to matter more to me than my own desire to have you.

That's what I mean when I say I choose you.

I don't mean I choose you only if you choose me back.

I mean I choose you as a person. I choose your happiness. Your freedom. Your right to find the life and love that make you feel alive. Even if someday that means I have to love you from farther away than I want to.

And yes, some part of me is still holding on to hope.

Not demanding hope. Not chasing it. Just holding it gently in my hands.

Because I don't know what this is. I don't know where it goes. Maybe it has an expiration date. Maybe it doesn't. Maybe someday we'll look back on this strange little chapter of our lives and understand what it was meant to be.

I only know that I don't want to rush it toward an ending simply because I'm afraid of one.

So if things feel different because you need space, I'll give you space.

If life is simply overwhelming you right now, I'll understand.

If you don't know what to say, you don't have to find the words.

And if you don't feel the same way about me, I will eventually learn how to accept that without asking you to carry the weight of my disappointment.

But please don't mistake my willingness to accept whatever comes next for a lack of feeling.

I love you.

Quietly. Completely. Without conditions.

And I still think you are extraordinary, even on the days you can't see it yourself.

You don't have to give me anything for that love to be real.

You don't even have to answer this.

I just needed you to know that telling you wasn't me asking you to change our story.

It was simply me refusing to let someone I love go on believing that she is unlovable.

Whatever happens from here, I am grateful I got to know you.

And for as long as you'll have me, I'll be here—without pushing, without pulling, without asking you to run toward me.

Just here.

Still caring.

Still choosing you.

Still quietly hoping that somewhere down the road, our paths might lead to the same place.

And if they don't, I hope yours leads somewhere beautiful.

You deserve nothing less.

​

There are some things I’ve been carrying quietly since I told you how I feel, and I think I need to put them into words—not because I’m asking anything of you, but because I want you to understand why I said what I said.

When you told me what you did, something in me felt as though the stars had briefly fallen into alignment. I couldn’t bear the thought of you walking away from that moment believing the things you’ve sometimes believed about yourself—that you are difficult to love, that you are somehow unworthy of being chosen, or that love is something you have to earn.

How could I know how I feel about you and keep that from you?

I wanted you to know that there is someone in this world who sees you and loves you simply for being you. Not because of what you can give me. Not because I expect something in return. Not because I need you to become anything different. Just you. As you are.

I know talking about feelings isn't easy for you, and I never expected some grand conversation or declaration in return. I wasn't asking you to answer me. I wasn't asking you to change anything between us. I thought, perhaps naively, that I could simply tell you the truth of my heart and let it rest there.

And maybe that's why I'm struggling a little now.

Things feel different. A little less soft somehow. A little more careful. Maybe I'm imagining it. Maybe your life has simply been chaotic, and the timing of my confession couldn't have been worse. I don't know. And I don't want to mistake your silence for something it isn't.

So I'm not asking you to explain yourself to me. I'm not asking you to reassure me. I respect your silence, and I respect whatever you are carrying right now. If you're not in a place where you can talk about any of this, I understand.

But I would be lying if I said I haven't wondered whether telling you was a mistake.

Sometimes I wonder if I should have kept it tucked away somewhere inside me indefinitely. If I somehow took this unnamed, beautiful thing we have and placed too much weight upon it simply by giving my feelings a name.

I hope I didn't.

Because I can't regret loving you. I can only regret that telling you may have made something that felt effortless suddenly feel complicated.

And I don't want to change gears. I don't want to pick up speed. I don't want to push this toward some destination it was never ready to reach. I don't need a promise, a decision, or a definition. I don't need you to suddenly make room in your life for something you aren't ready for.

I just want to keep being here.

Patiently. Gently. Without asking you to move any faster than you want to move.

The truth is, I don't know how you feel about me. And there is a quiet sadness in accepting that you may never feel what I feel. I won't pretend that wouldn't hurt. It would. But loving you was never supposed to be a transaction where I give you my heart and wait for yours in return.

If you don't love me the way I love you, then I will have to learn how to live with that truth.

But I won't turn my love into resentment simply because it wasn't returned.

I think that's part of what it means to love someone freely.

And more than anything, I want you to be happy.

I know I only know the pieces of your life you've chosen to share with me. I would never presume to understand everything happening behind the scenes, or tell you what you should do with your life. But I hear you when you tell me that you're unhappy. I hear how deeply you've wanted something different. And it breaks my heart to imagine you remaining somewhere that makes you feel small or unloved simply because leaving feels impossible.

You deserve your dream.

You deserve peace.

You deserve to wake up one day and realize that the life you're living is one you actually want.

And if I'm not part of that life, then I'll have to make peace with that too.

I mean that.

I would rather see you happy from a distance than have you stay miserable just to keep me close.

That doesn't mean I'm giving up on you. It doesn't mean I'm walking away. It means that whatever happens, I want your happiness to matter more to me than my own desire to have you.

That's what I mean when I say I choose you.

I don't mean I choose you only if you choose me back.

I mean I choose you as a person. I choose your happiness. Your freedom. Your right to find the life and love that make you feel alive. Even if someday that means I have to love you from farther away than I want to.

And yes, some part of me is still holding on to hope.

Not demanding hope. Not chasing it. Just holding it gently in my hands.

Because I don't know what this is. I don't know where it goes. Maybe it has an expiration date. Maybe it doesn't. Maybe someday we'll look back on this strange little chapter of our lives and understand what it was meant to be.

I only know that I don't want to rush it toward an ending simply because I'm afraid of one.

So if things feel different because you need space, I'll give you space.

If life is simply overwhelming you right now, I'll understand.

If you don't know what to say, you don't have to find the words.

And if you don't feel the same way about me, I will eventually learn how to accept that without asking you to carry the weight of my disappointment.

But please don't mistake my willingness to accept whatever comes next for a lack of feeling.

I love you.

Quietly. Completely. Without conditions.

And I still think you are extraordinary, even on the days you can't see it yourself.

You don't have to give me anything for that love to be real.

You don't even have to answer this.

I just needed you to know that telling you wasn't me asking you to change our story.

It was simply me refusing to let someone I love go on believing that she is unlovable.

Whatever happens from here, I am grateful I got to know you.

And for as long as you'll have me, I'll be here—without pushing, without pulling, without asking you to run toward me.

Just here.

Still caring.

Still choosing you.

Still quietly hoping that somewhere down the road, our paths might lead to the same place.

And if they don't, I hope yours leads somewhere beautiful.

You deserve nothing less.

​

There are some things I’ve been carrying quietly since I told you how I feel, and I think I need to put them into words—not because I’m asking anything of you, but because I want you to understand why I said what I said.

When you told me what you did, something in me felt as though the stars had briefly fallen into alignment. I couldn’t bear the thought of you walking away from that moment believing the things you’ve sometimes believed about yourself—that you are difficult to love, that you are somehow unworthy of being chosen, or that love is something you have to earn.

How could I know how I feel about you and keep that from you?

I wanted you to know that there is someone in this world who sees you and loves you simply for being you. Not because of what you can give me. Not because I expect something in return. Not because I need you to become anything different. Just you. As you are.

I know talking about feelings isn't easy for you, and I never expected some grand conversation or declaration in return. I wasn't asking you to answer me. I wasn't asking you to change anything between us. I thought, perhaps naively, that I could simply tell you the truth of my heart and let it rest there.

And maybe that's why I'm struggling a little now.

Things feel different. A little less soft somehow. A little more careful. Maybe I'm imagining it. Maybe your life has simply been chaotic, and the timing of my confession couldn't have been worse. I don't know. And I don't want to mistake your silence for something it isn't.

So I'm not asking you to explain yourself to me. I'm not asking you to reassure me. I respect your silence, and I respect whatever you are carrying right now. If you're not in a place where you can talk about any of this, I understand.

But I would be lying if I said I haven't wondered whether telling you was a mistake.

Sometimes I wonder if I should have kept it tucked away somewhere inside me indefinitely. If I somehow took this unnamed, beautiful thing we have and placed too much weight upon it simply by giving my feelings a name.

I hope I didn't.

Because I can't regret loving you. I can only regret that telling you may have made something that felt effortless suddenly feel complicated.

And I don't want to change gears. I don't want to pick up speed. I don't want to push this toward some destination it was never ready to reach. I don't need a promise, a decision, or a definition. I don't need you to suddenly make room in your life for something you aren't ready for.

I just want to keep being here.

Patiently. Gently. Without asking you to move any faster than you want to move.

The truth is, I don't know how you feel about me. And there is a quiet sadness in accepting that you may never feel what I feel. I won't pretend that wouldn't hurt. It would. But loving you was never supposed to be a transaction where I give you my heart and wait for yours in return.

If you don't love me the way I love you, then I will have to learn how to live with that truth.

But I won't turn my love into resentment simply because it wasn't returned.

I think that's part of what it means to love someone freely.

And more than anything, I want you to be happy.

I know I only know the pieces of your life you've chosen to share with me. I would never presume to understand everything happening behind the scenes, or tell you what you should do with your life. But I hear you when you tell me that you're unhappy. I hear how deeply you've wanted something different. And it breaks my heart to imagine you remaining somewhere that makes you feel small or unloved simply because leaving feels impossible.

You deserve your dream.

You deserve peace.

You deserve to wake up one day and realize that the life you're living is one you actually want.

And if I'm not part of that life, then I'll have to make peace with that too.

I mean that.

I would rather see you happy from a distance than have you stay miserable just to keep me close.

That doesn't mean I'm giving up on you. It doesn't mean I'm walking away. It means that whatever happens, I want your happiness to matter more to me than my own desire to have you.

That's what I mean when I say I choose you.

I don't mean I choose you only if you choose me back.

I mean I choose you as a person. I choose your happiness. Your freedom. Your right to find the life and love that make you feel alive. Even if someday that means I have to love you from farther away than I want to.

And yes, some part of me is still holding on to hope.

Not demanding hope. Not chasing it. Just holding it gently in my hands.

Because I don't know what this is. I don't know where it goes. Maybe it has an expiration date. Maybe it doesn't. Maybe someday we'll look back on this strange little chapter of our lives and understand what it was meant to be.

I only know that I don't want to rush it toward an ending simply because I'm afraid of one.

So if things feel different because you need space, I'll give you space.

If life is simply overwhelming you right now, I'll understand.

If you don't know what to say, you don't have to find the words.

And if you don't feel the same way about me, I will eventually learn how to accept that without asking you to carry the weight of my disappointment.

But please don't mistake my willingness to accept whatever comes next for a lack of feeling.

I love you.

Quietly. Completely. Without conditions.

And I still think you are extraordinary, even on the days you can't see it yourself.

You don't have to give me anything for that love to be real.

You don't even have to answer this.

I just needed you to know that telling you wasn't me asking you to change our story.

It was simply me refusing to let someone I love go on believing that she is unlovable.

Whatever happens from here, I am grateful I got to know you.

And for as long as you'll have me, I'll be here—without pushing, without pulling, without asking you to run toward me.

Just here.

Still caring.

Still choosing you.

Still quietly hoping that somewhere down the road, our paths might lead to the same place.

And if they don't, I hope yours leads somewhere beautiful.

You deserve nothing less.

~Me

Pain

From the day I met you, I was given a choice: give up a part of who I was, or risk losing you forever.

I made the choice I would make over and over again.

A small sacrifice, I thought, for someone I loved that deeply. Someone I believed I could grow with. Someone I thought I could walk through this strange, beautiful, brutal world beside. Someone I might one day watch the lights go out with, hand in hand, when we were old and there was nothing left to fear.

I thought you might be worth sacrificing a little piece of myself for.

I have only ever wanted to be loved. And for a time, it seemed that one person simply couldn't give me everything my heart needed. That isn't a condemnation of anyone. It doesn't mean anyone wasn't good enough. Sometimes a heart is simply larger than the boundaries we've been taught to put around it.

I've never been deceptive about that part of myself. I've never hidden it or pretended to be something I wasn't. I don't find shame in my capacity to love more than one person. I believe it is something deeply human, something we have spent centuries teaching ourselves to suppress in the name of what we've decided love is supposed to look like.

But I digress.

I'm a rational man. I know how to make a promise. I know how to give my word and stand by it.

When I came into this, I agreed to your terms.

And I kept my word.

For nearly a decade, I have been faithful to you. I have never consciously given you a reason to question my integrity. I have stood beside you through the worst of it. I have protected you. I have cared for you. I have put you before myself more times than I could ever count.

I rescued you and your children from a burning building.

If that doesn't tell you something about the depth of my instinct to protect the people I love, I don't know what possibly could.

You know my past. You know the things I've lived through. You know I've stood where you are standing now. I've experienced the very things I refuse to do to you because I know what they feel like.

And still, somehow, I am the one standing here being asked to prove that I am trustworthy.

I don't understand.

Your accusations have become a wound I cannot seem to keep from reopening.

I understand that you've carried an enormous amount of stress over the last few years. I know you keep yourself busy because sometimes staying busy is easier than sitting still with everything inside your head. I have tried to understand that. I've tried to be compassionate. I've tried to give you room when you needed it and reach for you when I thought you needed someone to catch you.

But there is a difference between understanding someone's pain and allowing yourself to be destroyed by it.

Eventually, even a man who loves you begins to bleed.

You are not carrying this alone.

I'm in this with you.

I have been in this with you.

But sometimes it feels as though you have decided I am the scapegoat for everything that has made you unhappy. And I don't know how to keep standing there and accepting the blame for a life neither of us seems to recognize anymore.

I'm sorry if we don't live up to whatever standard you've imagined for our lives.

I'm sorry if our life is not luxurious enough. I'm sorry if it isn't comfortable enough. I'm sorry if what I can offer you doesn't resemble the life you imagined you would have.

But I have never promised you luxury.

I promised you love.

I promised you that I would care for you.

I would have loved you in a little house with a leaking roof. I would have loved you in a mansion. I would have loved you anywhere, so long as we were together and there was still something alive between us.

But you keep pulling away.

Every time I try to come closer, you retreat.

Every time I reach for you, your hand seems to disappear into the darkness.

And then somehow I'm made to feel as though your loneliness is my fault.

I don't understand where you're coming from anymore.

There is no intimacy.

No friendship.

No tenderness.

No kinship.

No sense that we are two people choosing each other.

There is simply a living arrangement.

Two people occupying the same space, passing each other like ghosts in a house that used to belong to us.

And sometimes I wonder if you even want me anymore.

Maybe you only want the idea of me.

The security of having a man there.

The knowledge that someone will be there to carry things, fix things, protect things, shoulder things.

But without the intimacy. Without the vulnerability. Without the responsibility of actually loving the person standing beside you.

If that's all you need, you could get a dog.

Why do I need to suffer for it?

What did I do to deserve this?

I sacrificed my way of living because I believed in us. I accepted the boundaries you asked me to accept because I loved you more than I loved having everything I wanted.

And now I'm being asked to live without the benefits of a relationship while somehow being expected to swallow the loneliness and ask for more.

I can't.

I feel obligation from you.

Frustration.

Anger.

Resentment.

What I don't feel is love.

And that is the part that is killing me.

This illness is cruel enough.

It takes pieces of me without asking. It has reduced my world to rooms and walls and days measured by pain. Every morning I wake up and fight my way through another day. I claw my way toward the finish line over and over again, even when my body is begging me to stop.

I can endure pain.

I've learned how.

What I don't know how to endure is being hurt by the person I thought was supposed to be my refuge from it.

The pain you cause when you question my motives, my integrity, my loyalty, my love for you is deeper than anything this disease could deliver.

Because physical pain is just pain.

But betrayal by the person you love is something else entirely.

It is standing in a dark room and realizing the door was never locked—you simply weren't wanted outside.

It is watching the person you would have died protecting slowly become the person you need protection from.

It is being buried alive beneath the weight of someone else's doubt while they stand above you asking why you can't breathe.

And the saddest part is that you know.

You know what this stress does to me.

You know what prolonged stress does to my body. You know my nervous system cannot sustain recurrent insults like this. You know that every argument, every accusation, every night spent wondering whether the person beside me actually loves me has a physical cost.

And still, somehow, I find myself having to beg for the one thing I thought I was supposed to be able to find at home:

Peace.

I don't want to fight you.

I don't want to punish you.

I don't want to make you feel guilty for being unhappy.

I just want you to understand what this is doing to me.

There is only so much a person can endure before endurance becomes another word for slowly dying.

And I am already fighting for my life every single day.

I cannot spend what little strength I have left fighting the person I love, too.

So I have to draw a line somewhere.

Not because I don't love you.

Perhaps because I do.

Because I finally have to love myself enough to admit that this is hurting me beyond what I can survive.

I wanted to grow old with you.

I wanted to walk beside you through the ordinary days—the boring ones, the beautiful ones, the terrible ones. I wanted a simple life filled with small moments and quiet affection. I wanted to take care of you. I wanted to be your safe place.

I never needed perfection.

I only needed to feel wanted.

And now I am sitting here wondering how someone can spend nearly ten years beside the person they love and still feel completely alone.

There is something uniquely horrifying about being lonely beside someone.

It is not the loneliness of an empty house.

It is the loneliness of having someone within arm's reach and realizing there is an entire universe between you.

That kind of loneliness has teeth.

It feeds slowly.

It takes little pieces.

And if you let it, it will consume everything you were before you even realize you are disappearing.

I have given you pieces of myself willingly.

But I cannot keep giving pieces of myself to a relationship that seems determined to leave nothing of me behind.

Love is supposed to be difficult sometimes.

It is supposed to ask things of us.

It is supposed to require sacrifice.

But love should not feel like a punishment.

It should not feel like a sentence handed down without end.

It should not leave one person lying awake in the darkness, wondering what they did wrong, while the other sleeps peacefully beside them.

Love shouldn't hurt this much.

And if it does, then something has gone terribly, terribly wrong.

Purpose

I think a man needs a purpose. Something to wake up for. A dragon to slay, perhaps—not necessarily some great heroic battle, but something that gives his days direction. Something that makes him feel that his presence in this world matters.

Without that, it's easy to become a little lost. Directionless. To move through the days without really knowing what you're moving toward.

You know some of what has happened in my life. You know the weight I carry, and you've seen pieces of me that aren't always easy to show. And somehow, you never make me feel like I need to apologize for any of it.

You're so gentle with me in that way.

You simply accept me as I am.

And somewhere along the way, without either of us really noticing it happen, I've fallen in love with the little things that make you you. Your idiosyncrasies. The things that catch your attention. The things that make you laugh. The little interests and curiosities that light something up inside you.

I love the way you can find joy in ordinary things. There is something incredibly beautiful about that.

Sometimes I imagine that beautiful smile slowly finding its way across your face when something shiny or interesting catches your eye. I don't know why that particular image stays with me, but it does. Maybe because I love the thought of you being delighted by something small and unexpected.

You were feeling a little melancholy today, and I asked you how I could help.

And you actually told me.

You asked for something specific, something you wanted, and I remember how genuinely happy it made me to be able to do it for you. I didn't experience it as an obligation or something I was supposed to do. Quite the opposite.

I was delighted.

I wanted to make it happen.

So I made it my little mission to fulfill your request, and there was something almost silly about how much satisfaction I got from it. I found myself thinking about how I could make it just right, because the thought of you receiving it and feeling a little lighter made me happy too.

It was such a small thing, really.

But it wasn't small to me.

Because I think that's when I understood something about the way I feel about you.

I want to know how to make the difficult moments a little softer for you. I want to be someone you can come to when the world feels heavy. Someone who can make you smile when you weren't expecting to. Someone who reminds you that you're seen, appreciated, and cherished.

Your comfort matters to me.

Your safety matters to me.

Your smile matters to me.

The warmth in your heart matters to me.

And somewhere along the way, I realized something I hadn't quite put into words before.

You have become a purpose for me.

Not because I need you to save me. Not because I expect you to carry me or make my life meaningful for me. And certainly not because I think your happiness is something you're responsible for giving me.

I mean something much simpler.

I want to love you well.

I want to be a person who brings something good into your life. Someone who treats your heart gently. Someone who makes you feel respected, cherished, accepted, and safe enough to simply be yourself.

And I think that's all the same thing, in the end.

It's love.

Maybe the purest kind I know.

The kind that doesn't need to possess anything.

God, would I love to be with you. I won't pretend otherwise. Of course I would. There is a part of me that would love nothing more than to have you beside me—to share ordinary mornings and stupid jokes and meals and quiet evenings, to experience all those little pieces of life that we can only imagine from where we are now.

But even beyond that desire, there is something quieter.

I just want to love you as you are.

Purely.

Sweetly.

Gently.

Quietly, if that's what you need.

I don't need to own you to love you. I don't need to have some claim on you. I don't need you to belong to me.

I just want you to be happy.

And I hate the thought of you hurting. I hate knowing there are things in this world that can make that beautiful heart of yours feel heavy.

If I could, I'd keep some of that debris away from you. Not because I think you can't handle it—you can. You're stronger and more capable than you probably give yourself credit for.

But because when you love someone, you naturally want to make the road a little easier for them where you can.

I know you don't need protection.

You don't need rescuing.

And you certainly don't need me.

And strangely, that's one of the things I find most beautiful about you.

You don't need me.

But if you ever chose me anyway...

That would be miraculous.

And I want you to understand something, because the last thing I would ever want is for these words to feel like a request.

I'm not asking you for anything.

I'm not asking you to answer a question you're not ready to answer. I'm not asking you to promise me anything, or to give me something you don't know how to give yet.

Please don't feel any pressure in what I'm saying.

I'm simply letting you see a little more of what's happening inside me.

Because somewhere along the way, loving you became less about wondering what I might receive and more about what I hope I can give.

As long as I'm still breathing, I want my life to have some purpose.

And right now, part of that purpose is making sure that, in whatever small ways I can, your life contains a little more tenderness, a little more laughter, a little more warmth.

And loving you completely, however that ultimately plays out—whether close beside you or quietly from whatever distance life requires—is something I can do without asking anything in return.

Maybe that's what I've been trying to tell you all along.

You don't have to be mine for me to love you.

You don't have to choose me for my love to be real.

I simply love you.

And for now, that is enough.

​

I think a man needs a purpose. Something to wake up for. A dragon to slay, perhaps—not necessarily some great heroic battle, but something that gives his days direction. Something that makes him feel that his presence in this world matters.

Without that, it's easy to become a little lost. Directionless. To move through the days without really knowing what you're moving toward.

You know some of what has happened in my life. You know the weight I carry, and you've seen pieces of me that aren't always easy to show. And somehow, you never make me feel like I need to apologize for any of it.

You're so gentle with me in that way.

You simply accept me as I am.

And somewhere along the way, without either of us really noticing it happen, I've fallen in love with the little things that make you you. Your idiosyncrasies. The things that catch your attention. The things that make you laugh. The little interests and curiosities that light something up inside you.

I love the way you can find joy in ordinary things. There is something incredibly beautiful about that.

Sometimes I imagine that beautiful smile slowly finding its way across your face when something shiny or interesting catches your eye. I don't know why that particular image stays with me, but it does. Maybe because I love the thought of you being delighted by something small and unexpected.

You were feeling a little melancholy today, and I asked you how I could help.

And you actually told me.

You asked for something specific, something you wanted, and I remember how genuinely happy it made me to be able to do it for you. I didn't experience it as an obligation or something I was supposed to do. Quite the opposite.

I was delighted.

I wanted to make it happen.

So I made it my little mission to fulfill your request, and there was something almost silly about how much satisfaction I got from it. I found myself thinking about how I could make it just right, because the thought of you receiving it and feeling a little lighter made me happy too.

It was such a small thing, really.

But it wasn't small to me.

Because I think that's when I understood something about the way I feel about you.

I want to know how to make the difficult moments a little softer for you. I want to be someone you can come to when the world feels heavy. Someone who can make you smile when you weren't expecting to. Someone who reminds you that you're seen, appreciated, and cherished.

Your comfort matters to me.

Your safety matters to me.

Your smile matters to me.

The warmth in your heart matters to me.

And somewhere along the way, I realized something I hadn't quite put into words before.

You have become a purpose for me.

Not because I need you to save me. Not because I expect you to carry me or make my life meaningful for me. And certainly not because I think your happiness is something you're responsible for giving me.

I mean something much simpler.

I want to love you well.

I want to be a person who brings something good into your life. Someone who treats your heart gently. Someone who makes you feel respected, cherished, accepted, and safe enough to simply be yourself.

And I think that's all the same thing, in the end.

It's love.

Maybe the purest kind I know.

The kind that doesn't need to possess anything.

God, would I love to be with you. I won't pretend otherwise. Of course I would. There is a part of me that would love nothing more than to have you beside me—to share ordinary mornings and stupid jokes and meals and quiet evenings, to experience all those little pieces of life that we can only imagine from where we are now.

But even beyond that desire, there is something quieter.

I just want to love you as you are.

Purely.

Sweetly.

Gently.

Quietly, if that's what you need.

I don't need to own you to love you. I don't need to have some claim on you. I don't need you to belong to me.

I just want you to be happy.

And I hate the thought of you hurting. I hate knowing there are things in this world that can make that beautiful heart of yours feel heavy.

If I could, I'd keep some of that debris away from you. Not because I think you can't handle it—you can. You're stronger and more capable than you probably give yourself credit for.

But because when you love someone, you naturally want to make the road a little easier for them where you can.

I know you don't need protection.

You don't need rescuing.

And you certainly don't need me.

And strangely, that's one of the things I find most beautiful about you.

You don't need me.

But if you ever chose me anyway...

That would be miraculous.

And I want you to understand something, because the last thing I would ever want is for these words to feel like a request.

I'm not asking you for anything.

I'm not asking you to answer a question you're not ready to answer. I'm not asking you to promise me anything, or to give me something you don't know how to give yet.

Please don't feel any pressure in what I'm saying.

I'm simply letting you see a little more of what's happening inside me.

Because somewhere along the way, loving you became less about wondering what I might receive and more about what I hope I can give.

As long as I'm still breathing, I want my life to have some purpose.

And right now, part of that purpose is making sure that, in whatever small ways I can, your life contains a little more tenderness, a little more laughter, a little more warmth.

And loving you completely, however that ultimately plays out—whether close beside you or quietly from whatever distance life requires—is something I can do without asking anything in return.

Maybe that's what I've been trying to tell you all along.

You don't have to be mine for me to love you.

You don't have to choose me for my love to be real.

I simply love you.

And for now, that is enough.

To the Woman Who Found Me

There are moments in a life that seem insignificant while they are happening, only to become, in retrospect, the dividing line between who you were and who you became.

I think meeting you was one of those moments.

A few days before you found me, I was in a place I don't like to remember. I was tired in a way sleep couldn't touch. Life had become something I was enduring rather than something I was living, and I had begun to wonder how much longer I could carry everything I had been given.

I was very close to disappearing into that darkness.

And then you appeared.

Not dramatically. Not with any idea of what you were walking into. You simply reached out.

You probably had no idea that your message arrived at the precise moment I needed it most. You couldn't have known what was happening inside me. You couldn't have known how close to the edge I was.

But somehow, you found me anyway.

And from the beginning, there was something almost uncanny about us.

We would talk, and one of us would inevitably say, “Me too.”

Again.

And again.

And again.

As though we had spent years walking separate roads only to discover that, somehow, they had been leading to the same place.

We aren't the same. I don't want us to be.

We have our differences, our peculiarities, our own ways of seeing the world. But instead of creating distance, they seem to make the other more fascinating.

I don't want to change those things about you.

I want to understand them.

I want to know the architecture of your mind. The reasons behind your laughter. The things that make you light up. The things that frighten you. The little habits you don't think anyone notices. The stories that made you who you are.

I want to know you—not simply the version of you that you show the world, but the woman underneath it.

Because somewhere along the way, knowing you became one of my favorite things in this life.

For months, we've shared pieces of ourselves in the smallest ways.

A picture.

A song.

A television show.

A recipe.

A passing thought.

Some ridiculous observation that shouldn't have mattered and somehow did.

Little fragments of ordinary life.

And somehow, when they came from you, they never felt ordinary.

I began to look forward to your words in a way I had never experienced before.

I fell for you before I ever saw your face.

And then I did.

And, well...

God.

You are beautiful.

But what astonished me was realizing that your face was almost incidental to the beauty I had already fallen in love with.

It's your mind that captivates me.

Your humor.

Your curiosity.

Your passion.

Your kindness.

Your strange little contradictions.

Your ability to find something beautiful in the mundane.

Your perfectly timed profanity.

Your capacity to be both elegant and completely chaotic.

You are somehow equal parts grace and mischief, softness and fire.

And I find all of it endlessly fascinating.

There is a gravity to you.

I don't have a better word for it.

You pull at something in me that I don't fully understand, and I have stopped trying to resist it.

Because I don't want to escape your orbit.

I want to stay here.

There is something almost sacred about being allowed into someone's world.

To be trusted with their thoughts.

Their stories.

Their ordinary moments.

Their vulnerabilities.

To be given a glimpse of the person behind everything everyone else sees.

And sometimes, when I'm talking to you, I have this strange feeling that I'm witnessing something precious.

Something I don't want to take for granted.

Because you are precious to me.

More than I know how to explain.

And perhaps the most astonishing thing of all is that this woman I find so extraordinary somehow looked back at me and saw something worth knowing.

You saw me.

I still don't quite understand that.

But you did.

And I need you to know something I've never quite known how to say.

Had you not reached out to me that day, I genuinely don't know if I would be here now.

You didn't know you were reaching for someone who was barely holding on.

You weren't trying to rescue me.

You didn't ask for that responsibility.

But your presence arrived like a light through a door I had almost stopped believing existed.

And something in me changed.

I began to want things again.

Not grand things.

Just tomorrow.

Another conversation.

Another laugh.

Another song.

Another glimpse into your world.

Another day in which I might get to know you a little better.

You reminded me that life can still surprise you.

That beauty can arrive without warning.

That sometimes the most important moments are the ones we never planned.

I've survived difficult things since we met.

And through them, you have been there—not physically, perhaps, but in spirit. In the quiet knowledge that somewhere out there was a person whose existence had become profoundly meaningful to me.

You made me want to take better care of myself.

To keep growing.

To keep fighting.

To refuse to let the things that have happened to me become the entirety of who I am.

Not because you owe me anything.

You don't.

But because knowing you reminded me that I still have something worth protecting inside myself.

And that may be the greatest gift anyone has ever unknowingly given me.

I don't know what you feel.

I know there is something between us. I feel it in the spaces between the words, in the things we share, in the way we've somehow become part of each other's everyday lives.

But I don't presume to name something that belongs to you.

You deserve the freedom to discover your own heart in your own time.

So I won't ask you for an answer.

This isn't a demand.

It's a confession.

Because I love you.

I love you in a way that feels larger than circumstance.

I love you with wonder.

With gratitude.

With an almost painful reverence for the fact that you exist at all.

I love the woman you are, flaws and all.

Perhaps especially the flaws.

Because perfection isn't what makes someone extraordinary.

Being wholly, unapologetically themselves does.

And you are so completely yourself.

You are beautiful in ways I don't think you realize.

I wish, more than almost anything, that you could borrow my eyes for a moment.

Just long enough to see what I see.

You would see a woman who is breathtakingly beautiful, yes.

But you'd see so much more than that.

You'd see someone brilliant.

Someone funny.

Someone deeply interesting.

Someone whose presence has become woven into another person's life without ever demanding that it be.

You'd see someone who has been loved quietly, deeply, and without condition.

You'd see someone who changed the trajectory of another human being's life simply by deciding to say hello.

I don't know what happens from here.

Maybe our story becomes something I haven't dared to imagine.

Maybe it remains exactly what it is.

Maybe someday we'll look back on this strange chapter of our lives and marvel that two people who had never even stood in the same room could mean so much to one another.

Whatever happens, I will always be grateful that I lived in a world where you found me.

Because before you, I had almost forgotten that life could still contain wonder.

Then you arrived.

And suddenly there was laughter again.

Curiosity.

Anticipation.

Hope.

And love.

So this is my confession:

I fell in love with you.

Slowly.

Completely.

Almost reverently.

And I don't know whether you were sent into my life by coincidence, by chance, or by some strange alignment of stars.

I only know that you arrived when I needed you most.

And I will never stop being grateful that, for reasons I'll probably never understand,

you saw me.

And in being seen by you,

I remembered how to see the beauty in being alive.

*Why do I call you sunshine?

To the Woman Who Found Me

There are moments in a life that seem insignificant while they are happening, only to become, in retrospect, the dividing line between who you were and who you became.

I think meeting you was one of those moments.

A few days before you found me, I was in a place I don't like to remember. I was tired in a way sleep couldn't touch. Life had become something I was enduring rather than something I was living, and I had begun to wonder how much longer I could carry everything I had been given.

I was very close to disappearing into that darkness.

And then you appeared.

Not dramatically. Not with any idea of what you were walking into. You simply reached out.

You probably had no idea that your message arrived at the precise moment I needed it most. You couldn't have known what was happening inside me. You couldn't have known how close to the edge I was.

But somehow, you found me anyway.

And from the beginning, there was something almost uncanny about us.

We would talk, and one of us would inevitably say, “Me too.”

Again.

And again.

And again.

As though we had spent years walking separate roads only to discover that, somehow, they had been leading to the same place.

We aren't the same. I don't want us to be.

We have our differences, our peculiarities, our own ways of seeing the world. But instead of creating distance, they seem to make the other more fascinating.

I don't want to change those things about you.

I want to understand them.

I want to know the architecture of your mind. The reasons behind your laughter. The things that make you light up. The things that frighten you. The little habits you don't think anyone notices. The stories that made you who you are.

I want to know you—not simply the version of you that you show the world, but the woman underneath it.

Because somewhere along the way, knowing you became one of my favorite things in this life.

For months, we've shared pieces of ourselves in the smallest ways.

A picture.

A song.

A television show.

A recipe.

A passing thought.

Some ridiculous observation that shouldn't have mattered and somehow did.

Little fragments of ordinary life.

And somehow, when they came from you, they never felt ordinary.

I began to look forward to your words in a way I had never experienced before.

I fell for you before I ever saw your face.

And then I did.

And, well...

God.

You are beautiful.

But what astonished me was realizing that your face was almost incidental to the beauty I had already fallen in love with.

It's your mind that captivates me.

Your humor.

Your curiosity.

Your passion.

Your kindness.

Your strange little contradictions.

Your ability to find something beautiful in the mundane.

Your perfectly timed profanity.

Your capacity to be both elegant and completely chaotic.

You are somehow equal parts grace and mischief, softness and fire.

And I find all of it endlessly fascinating.

There is a gravity to you.

I don't have a better word for it.

You pull at something in me that I don't fully understand, and I have stopped trying to resist it.

Because I don't want to escape your orbit.

I want to stay here.

There is something almost sacred about being allowed into someone's world.

To be trusted with their thoughts.

Their stories.

Their ordinary moments.

Their vulnerabilities.

To be given a glimpse of the person behind everything everyone else sees.

And sometimes, when I'm talking to you, I have this strange feeling that I'm witnessing something precious.

Something I don't want to take for granted.

Because you are precious to me.

More than I know how to explain.

And perhaps the most astonishing thing of all is that this woman I find so extraordinary somehow looked back at me and saw something worth knowing.

You saw me.

I still don't quite understand that.

But you did.

And I need you to know something I've never quite known how to say.

Had you not reached out to me that day, I genuinely don't know if I would be here now.

You didn't know you were reaching for someone who was barely holding on.

You weren't trying to rescue me.

You didn't ask for that responsibility.

But your presence arrived like a light through a door I had almost stopped believing existed.

And something in me changed.

I began to want things again.

Not grand things.

Just tomorrow.

Another conversation.

Another laugh.

Another song.

Another glimpse into your world.

Another day in which I might get to know you a little better.

You reminded me that life can still surprise you.

That beauty can arrive without warning.

That sometimes the most important moments are the ones we never planned.

I've survived difficult things since we met.

And through them, you have been there—not physically, perhaps, but in spirit. In the quiet knowledge that somewhere out there was a person whose existence had become profoundly meaningful to me.

You made me want to take better care of myself.

To keep growing.

To keep fighting.

To refuse to let the things that have happened to me become the entirety of who I am.

Not because you owe me anything.

You don't.

But because knowing you reminded me that I still have something worth protecting inside myself.

And that may be the greatest gift anyone has ever unknowingly given me.

I don't know what you feel.

I know there is something between us. I feel it in the spaces between the words, in the things we share, in the way we've somehow become part of each other's everyday lives.

But I don't presume to name something that belongs to you.

You deserve the freedom to discover your own heart in your own time.

So I won't ask you for an answer.

This isn't a demand.

It's a confession.

Because I love you.

I love you in a way that feels larger than circumstance.

I love you with wonder.

With gratitude.

With an almost painful reverence for the fact that you exist at all.

I love the woman you are, flaws and all.

Perhaps especially the flaws.

Because perfection isn't what makes someone extraordinary.

Being wholly, unapologetically themselves does.

And you are so completely yourself.

You are beautiful in ways I don't think you realize.

I wish, more than almost anything, that you could borrow my eyes for a moment.

Just long enough to see what I see.

You would see a woman who is breathtakingly beautiful, yes.

But you'd see so much more than that.

You'd see someone brilliant.

Someone funny.

Someone deeply interesting.

Someone whose presence has become woven into another person's life without ever demanding that it be.

You'd see someone who has been loved quietly, deeply, and without condition.

You'd see someone who changed the trajectory of another human being's life simply by deciding to say hello.

I don't know what happens from here.

Maybe our story becomes something I haven't dared to imagine.

Maybe it remains exactly what it is.

Maybe someday we'll look back on this strange chapter of our lives and marvel that two people who had never even stood in the same room could mean so much to one another.

Whatever happens, I will always be grateful that I lived in a world where you found me.

Because before you, I had almost forgotten that life could still contain wonder.

Then you arrived.

And suddenly there was laughter again.

Curiosity.

Anticipation.

Hope.

And love.

So this is my confession:

I fell in love with you.

Slowly.

Completely.

Almost reverently.

And I don't know whether you were sent into my life by coincidence, by chance, or by some strange alignment of stars.

I only know that you arrived when I needed you most.

And I will never stop being grateful that, for reasons I'll probably never understand,

you saw me.

And in being seen by you,

I remembered how to see the beauty in being alive.

L.

I asked the universe, and I think it answered.

I've spent a lot of time trying to find the right words for what you have become to me.

I don't think there are any.

I love you.

Not in the easy way we sometimes use those words when we're caught up in a moment. Not because I'm lonely, or unhappy, or because you've become an escape from a life that doesn't feel like mine anymore.

I love you because somewhere along the way, without either of us really deciding it would happen, you became part of the way I see the world.

You became a presence in my days.

A name I look for.

A voice I listen for.

A little piece of happiness I didn't know I was waiting for.

We've never even stood beside one another. We've never shared a room or reached across a table or felt the warmth of one another's hand.

And somehow, I know you.

At least the pieces you've trusted me enough to show.

The photographs. The stories. The ridiculous little things that made you laugh. The things you thought I'd find interesting. The quiet moments tucked between everything else.

I've fallen in love with those pieces.

And then there is the woman behind them.

You are, quite honestly, breathtaking.

But the strange thing is, I loved you before I knew what you looked like. Your face didn't create what I feel for you.

It simply gave the feeling somewhere beautiful to look.

And I love the imperfections, too.

Maybe especially those.

The little things you might wish were different about yourself are sometimes the very things that make you more beautiful to me. I don't want some perfected version of you. I don't want an ideal.

I want you.

Exactly as you are.

And your voice...

I don't know if you realize what you've done to me with that voice.

It has become my favorite sound.

There are moments when I listen to one of your messages more than once—not because I didn't hear what you said, but because I wanted to hear you again.

Your messages have become little bright spots in my days. Sometimes they're funny. Sometimes they're thoughtful. Sometimes they're nothing particularly important at all.

And somehow, they're still important to me.

Because they're yours.

That's what frightens me a little.

How easily you have become woven into me.

I can't imagine my life now without wondering what you'd think of something, without wanting to tell you something that happened, without seeing something and thinking, she would appreciate this.

I don't want to pretend that isn't true.

But I also don't want my love for you to become something heavy.

Because I know our lives are complicated.

I know yours is complicated.

Mine certainly is.

And I've asked the universe what I'm supposed to do with all of this.

I think maybe the answer is not that I have to stop loving you.

Maybe the answer is that I have to learn how to love you without trying to possess the future.

That's harder than I expected.

Because I can see the life we both seem to want.

Something simple.

Something quiet.

A life where being loved isn't complicated. Where two people can come home to one another and feel, finally, that they are where they belong.

I can see it so clearly sometimes that it almost feels like remembering something that hasn't happened yet.

And God, I would love that life with you.

I would choose it.

I would fight for it.

But I can't ask you to build it for me.

That's the line I keep coming back to.

Not because I doubt you.

I don't.

You're stronger and more capable than you probably give yourself credit for.

And not because I think you couldn't love me.

There are moments when I think you already do, even if neither of us has been brave enough to put that particular word between us.

I feel it in the way you care.

In the way you notice things.

In the tenderness that sometimes finds its way through your words.

I feel it.

And perhaps I'm wrong.

Perhaps some of what I feel is simply my heart filling in the spaces that distance leaves behind.

But if it is, it's still one of the most beautiful things I've ever felt.

What I don't want is for you to look at my life and decide that loving me means carrying it.

It doesn't.

Whatever burdens belong to me are mine.

Not yours.

You didn't create them, and you shouldn't have to inherit them simply because you happened to love the person carrying them.

That's why I'm trying to be restrained when every part of me wants to reach for you.

Because loving someone isn't only about how desperately you want them beside you.

Sometimes it's about wanting them to remain free enough to choose you.

I don't want to make your choices for you.

I don't want to tell you what your life should look like.

And I certainly don't want you to choose me because you think I need saving.

I want you to choose whatever makes your soul feel alive.

Even if that terrifies me.

Even if I have to learn how to live with wanting something I cannot control.

Because that's what this love has taught me.

That love can be enormous without being demanding.

It can be fierce without being possessive.

It can ask for nothing and still give everything.

So I'm not saying goodbye.

I'm not asking you for an answer.

I'm not asking you to promise me anything.

I'm just letting you see what has been living inside me.

I love you.

Purely.

Quietly.

More deeply than I know how to explain.

And maybe that's enough for tonight.

Maybe I don't need to know where this goes.

Maybe I don't need to solve tomorrow.

Maybe I can simply lie here for a while, close my eyes, and let myself be grateful that somehow, in this strange and impossibly complicated life, I found you.

I asked the universe for an answer.

Maybe the answer wasn't what I thought it would be.

Maybe it was simply this:

Love her.

And so I will.

Without demanding.

Without trying to own the outcome.

Without asking her to carry what belongs to me.

Just...

love her.

As completely as I know how.

And for tonight, that's enough.

-me

I asked the universe, and I think it answered.

I've spent a lot of time trying to find the right words for what you have become to me.

I don't think there are any.

I love you.

Not in the easy way we sometimes use those words when we're caught up in a moment. Not because I'm lonely, or unhappy, or because you've become an escape from a life that doesn't feel like mine anymore.

I love you because somewhere along the way, without either of us really deciding it would happen, you became part of the way I see the world.

You became a presence in my days.

A name I look for.

A voice I listen for.

A little piece of happiness I didn't know I was waiting for.

We've never even stood beside one another. We've never shared a room or reached across a table or felt the warmth of one another's hand.

And somehow, I know you.

At least the pieces you've trusted me enough to show.

The photographs. The stories. The ridiculous little things that made you laugh. The things you thought I'd find interesting. The quiet moments tucked between everything else.

I've fallen in love with those pieces.

And then there is the woman behind them.

You are, quite honestly, breathtaking.

But the strange thing is, I loved you before I knew what you looked like. Your face didn't create what I feel for you.

It simply gave the feeling somewhere beautiful to look.

And I love the imperfections, too.

Maybe especially those.

The little things you might wish were different about yourself are sometimes the very things that make you more beautiful to me. I don't want some perfected version of you. I don't want an ideal.

I want you.

Exactly as you are.

And your voice...

I don't know if you realize what you've done to me with that voice.

It has become my favorite sound.

There are moments when I listen to one of your messages more than once—not because I didn't hear what you said, but because I wanted to hear you again.

Your messages have become little bright spots in my days. Sometimes they're funny. Sometimes they're thoughtful. Sometimes they're nothing particularly important at all.

And somehow, they're still important to me.

Because they're yours.

That's what frightens me a little.

How easily you have become woven into me.

I can't imagine my life now without wondering what you'd think of something, without wanting to tell you something that happened, without seeing something and thinking, she would appreciate this.

I don't want to pretend that isn't true.

But I also don't want my love for you to become something heavy.

Because I know our lives are complicated.

I know yours is complicated.

Mine certainly is.

And I've asked the universe what I'm supposed to do with all of this.

I think maybe the answer is not that I have to stop loving you.

Maybe the answer is that I have to learn how to love you without trying to possess the future.

That's harder than I expected.

Because I can see the life we both seem to want.

Something simple.

Something quiet.

A life where being loved isn't complicated. Where two people can come home to one another and feel, finally, that they are where they belong.

I can see it so clearly sometimes that it almost feels like remembering something that hasn't happened yet.

And God, I would love that life with you.

I would choose it.

I would fight for it.

But I can't ask you to build it for me.

That's the line I keep coming back to.

Not because I doubt you.

I don't.

You're stronger and more capable than you probably give yourself credit for.

And not because I think you couldn't love me.

There are moments when I think you already do, even if neither of us has been brave enough to put that particular word between us.

I feel it in the way you care.

In the way you notice things.

In the tenderness that sometimes finds its way through your words.

I feel it.

And perhaps I'm wrong.

Perhaps some of what I feel is simply my heart filling in the spaces that distance leaves behind.

But if it is, it's still one of the most beautiful things I've ever felt.

What I don't want is for you to look at my life and decide that loving me means carrying it.

It doesn't.

Whatever burdens belong to me are mine.

Not yours.

You didn't create them, and you shouldn't have to inherit them simply because you happened to love the person carrying them.

That's why I'm trying to be restrained when every part of me wants to reach for you.

Because loving someone isn't only about how desperately you want them beside you.

Sometimes it's about wanting them to remain free enough to choose you.

I don't want to make your choices for you.

I don't want to tell you what your life should look like.

And I certainly don't want you to choose me because you think I need saving.

I want you to choose whatever makes your soul feel alive.

Even if that terrifies me.

Even if I have to learn how to live with wanting something I cannot control.

Because that's what this love has taught me.

That love can be enormous without being demanding.

It can be fierce without being possessive.

It can ask for nothing and still give everything.

So I'm not saying goodbye.

I'm not asking you for an answer.

I'm not asking you to promise me anything.

I'm just letting you see what has been living inside me.

I love you.

Purely.

Quietly.

More deeply than I know how to explain.

And maybe that's enough for tonight.

Maybe I don't need to know where this goes.

Maybe I don't need to solve tomorrow.

Maybe I can simply lie here for a while, close my eyes, and let myself be grateful that somehow, in this strange and impossibly complicated life, I found you.

I asked the universe for an answer.

Maybe the answer wasn't what I thought it would be.

Maybe it was simply this:

Love her.

And so I will.

Without demanding.

Without trying to own the outcome.

Without asking her to carry what belongs to me.

Just...

love her.

As completely as I know how.

And for tonight, that's enough.

I asked the universe, and I think it answered.

I've spent a lot of time trying to find the right words for what you have become to me.

I don't think there are any.

I love you.

Not in the easy way we sometimes use those words when we're caught up in a moment. Not because I'm lonely, or unhappy, or because you've become an escape from a life that doesn't feel like mine anymore.

I love you because somewhere along the way, without either of us really deciding it would happen, you became part of the way I see the world.

You became a presence in my days.

A name I look for.

A voice I listen for.

A little piece of happiness I didn't know I was waiting for.

We've never even stood beside one another. We've never shared a room or reached across a table or felt the warmth of one another's hand.

And somehow, I know you.

At least the pieces you've trusted me enough to show.

The photographs. The stories. The ridiculous little things that made you laugh. The things you thought I'd find interesting. The quiet moments tucked between everything else.

I've fallen in love with those pieces.

And then there is the woman behind them.

You are, quite honestly, breathtaking.

But the strange thing is, I loved you before I knew what you looked like. Your face didn't create what I feel for you.

It simply gave the feeling somewhere beautiful to look.

And I love the imperfections, too.

Maybe especially those.

The little things you might wish were different about yourself are sometimes the very things that make you more beautiful to me. I don't want some perfected version of you. I don't want an ideal.

I want you.

Exactly as you are.

And your voice...

I don't know if you realize what you've done to me with that voice.

It has become my favorite sound.

There are moments when I listen to one of your messages more than once—not because I didn't hear what you said, but because I wanted to hear you again.

Your messages have become little bright spots in my days. Sometimes they're funny. Sometimes they're thoughtful. Sometimes they're nothing particularly important at all.

And somehow, they're still important to me.

Because they're yours.

That's what frightens me a little.

How easily you have become woven into me.

I can't imagine my life now without wondering what you'd think of something, without wanting to tell you something that happened, without seeing something and thinking, she would appreciate this.

I don't want to pretend that isn't true.

But I also don't want my love for you to become something heavy.

Because I know our lives are complicated.

I know yours is complicated.

Mine certainly is.

And I've asked the universe what I'm supposed to do with all of this.

I think maybe the answer is not that I have to stop loving you.

Maybe the answer is that I have to learn how to love you without trying to possess the future.

That's harder than I expected.

Because I can see the life we both seem to want.

Something simple.

Something quiet.

A life where being loved isn't complicated. Where two people can come home to one another and feel, finally, that they are where they belong.

I can see it so clearly sometimes that it almost feels like remembering something that hasn't happened yet.

And God, I would love that life with you.

I would choose it.

I would fight for it.

But I can't ask you to build it for me.

That's the line I keep coming back to.

Not because I doubt you.

I don't.

You're stronger and more capable than you probably give yourself credit for.

And not because I think you couldn't love me.

There are moments when I think you already do, even if neither of us has been brave enough to put that particular word between us.

I feel it in the way you care.

In the way you notice things.

In the tenderness that sometimes finds its way through your words.

I feel it.

And perhaps I'm wrong.

Perhaps some of what I feel is simply my heart filling in the spaces that distance leaves behind.

But if it is, it's still one of the most beautiful things I've ever felt.

What I don't want is for you to look at my life and decide that loving me means carrying it.

It doesn't.

Whatever burdens belong to me are mine.

Not yours.

You didn't create them, and you shouldn't have to inherit them simply because you happened to love the person carrying them.

That's why I'm trying to be restrained when every part of me wants to reach for you.

Because loving someone isn't only about how desperately you want them beside you.

Sometimes it's about wanting them to remain free enough to choose you.

I don't want to make your choices for you.

I don't want to tell you what your life should look like.

And I certainly don't want you to choose me because you think I need saving.

I want you to choose whatever makes your soul feel alive.

Even if that terrifies me.

Even if I have to learn how to live with wanting something I cannot control.

Because that's what this love has taught me.

That love can be enormous without being demanding.

It can be fierce without being possessive.

It can ask for nothing and still give everything.

So I'm not saying goodbye.

I'm not asking you for an answer.

I'm not asking you to promise me anything.

I'm just letting you see what has been living inside me.

I love you.

Purely.

Quietly.

More deeply than I know how to explain.

And maybe that's enough for now.

Maybe I don't need to know where this goes.

Maybe I don't need to solve tomorrow.

Maybe I can simply lie here for a while, close my eyes, and let myself be grateful that somehow, in this strange and impossibly complicated life, I found you.

I asked the universe for an answer.

Maybe the answer wasn't what I thought it would be.

Maybe it was simply this:

Love her.

And so I will.

Without demanding.

Without trying to own the outcome.

Without asking her to carry what belongs to me.

Just...

love her.

As completely as I know how.

And for now, that's enough.

Is it possible?

L,

There’s something I’ve been carrying around for a while, and I think I need to finally put it into words.

Not because I need an answer from you right now. In fact, quite the opposite. If you aren't sure how you feel, I don't want you to answer this letter. I'd rather have your uncertainty than an answer given because you think I need one.

I just need you to know where my heart is.

We've never spoken. We've never sat across from each other, never held hands, never shared a meal, never even heard each other's voices. And somehow, despite all of that, you've become a part of my everyday life.

There have been very few days when we haven't messaged each other. Somewhere along the way, those messages became something I look forward to more than I probably should admit. You became someone I think about when my phone is quiet. Someone I wonder about when I haven't heard from you.

And when you can't message, you still make an effort to let me know you're thinking about me.

I notice those things.

I don't know what they mean to you.

That's the part I struggle with.

Because I know what they mean to me.

I have never felt this way about another person. At least, not like this. There is something about you that feels strangely familiar and completely new at the same time.

We laugh at the same things. We love food. We seem to want the same kind of life. Neither of us seems particularly interested in chasing some extravagant existence. We want something simple. Something peaceful. A life where the bills are paid, there's food in the pantry, there's laughter, affection, and someone beside us who genuinely wants to be there.

Nothing fancy.

Just happy.

And somehow, our visions of that life seem to line up remarkably well.

We have so much in common, but we're different enough that I never feel like I'm talking to a mirror. There's something about our differences that makes me want to know you more, not less.

I feel like our energies match.

At least, I think they do.

And maybe I'm wrong.

That's what frightens me.

Because we're both married. We're both unhappy. We both have complicated circumstances and lives that can't simply be swept aside because two people happened to find each other.

I don't want to be reckless with that.

I don't want either of us making decisions in the heat of something that feels overwhelming only to wake up later surrounded by consequences we weren't prepared for.

And I don't want to be another source of pressure in your life.

I know you know some of my story. You know that life hasn't exactly been gentle with me, and that I've had my share of things to navigate. You've seen some of the more vulnerable parts of my life, and you've never made me feel like they made me less worthy of being known.

Sometimes I wonder if knowing those things makes you hesitate. Maybe it makes you cautious about getting too close. I wouldn't blame you for that. I understand that letting someone into your life means accepting not only the easy parts, but the realities that come with them.

And maybe that's part of why you've been careful.

I respect that.

I just don't know whether that caution comes from uncertainty about me, or uncertainty about what you feel for me.

And I respect that.

What I don't know is whether you feel something similar beneath all that caution.

Do you miss me when we don't talk?

You've said you did.

Do you think about me when I'm not there?

You say you do.

Do you ever find yourself wondering what it would be like if circumstances were different?

Do you ever feel that strange pull toward me that I feel toward you?

I want to know.

God, I want to know.

But I don't want you to tell me until you actually know.

If you're uncertain, please be uncertain.

If you need time, take it.

If you're afraid, you can tell me you're afraid.

If you don't know what this is yet, that's okay too.

I would much rather wait for an honest answer than receive a comforting one that isn't completely true.

Because the truth matters to me more than reassurance.

And I don't want you answering because you're afraid that telling me you aren't sure will hurt me.

I'll survive uncertainty.

What I don't want is for either of us to make something this important into something it isn't just because we're afraid of losing it.

Because I don't want to lose you.

That's the part I haven't known how to say.

I'm afraid that asking you how you feel might somehow change what we have. That you'll feel pressured. That you'll pull away. That I'll suddenly become another complication you have to manage.

I don't want that.

I don't want to force a door open that you're not ready to walk through.

I can be patient.

I really can.

What I'm struggling with is the wanting.

Because I want you.

Not just physically. Not just romantically.

I want the possibility of you.

I want the ordinary things I find myself imagining sometimes. Making dinner together. Grocery shopping. Sitting around doing absolutely nothing. Laughing at some stupid joke only we find funny. Waking up next to someone who feels like home.

Nothing extravagant.

Just a simple life with someone I love and who loves me back.

And when I imagine that life lately, you're the person who keeps appearing in it.

That's a frightening thing to admit to someone I've never even spoken to.

But it's true.

The ache of wanting to be with you can be surprisingly physical sometimes. I miss someone I've never actually held.

I don't know how that's possible.

But somehow, it is.

And maybe that's why I'm writing this instead of asking you outright.

Because I don't need you to decide anything.

I don't need you to promise me anything.

I don't need you to tell me what you think I want to hear.

I just want you to know that somewhere along the way, you became very important to me.

More important than I intended.

More important than I was prepared for.

And if there is something growing in your heart too, I hope someday you'll tell me.

Not today.

Not tomorrow.

Not until you're certain enough that the words are yours and not something you feel obligated to give me.

I'll wait for that.

Because if what I feel between us is real, I don't think it needs to be rushed.

Maybe the most honest thing we can do is simply keep being ourselves. Keep talking. Keep learning each other. Let time show us whether this is something fleeting or something neither of us can ignore.

I don't know where this goes.

I don't know if it goes anywhere at all.

But I know that I care about you.

I know that I think about you.

I know that I look forward to your messages.

And I know that, somehow, through nothing more than words on a screen, you've managed to reach a part of me that no one else ever has.

So for now, that's enough.

You don't owe me an answer.

You don't owe me certainty.

You don't owe me anything.

Just be honest with yourself.

And when you know what your heart is saying—whatever it says—I'll want to hear it.

Until then...

I'll be here.

\~Me

L,

There’s something I’ve been carrying around for a while, and I think I need to finally put it into words.

Not because I need an answer from you right now. In fact, quite the opposite. If you aren't sure how you feel, I don't want you to answer this letter. I'd rather have your uncertainty than an answer given because you think I need one.

I just need you to know where my heart is.

We've never spoken. We've never sat across from each other, never held hands, never shared a meal, never even heard each other's voices. And somehow, despite all of that, you've become a part of my everyday life.

There have been very few days when we haven't messaged each other. Somewhere along the way, those messages became something I look forward to more than I probably should admit. You became someone I think about when my phone is quiet. Someone I wonder about when I haven't heard from you.

And when you can't message, you still make an effort to let me know you're thinking about me.

I notice those things.

I don't know what they mean to you.

That's the part I struggle with.

Because I know what they mean to me.

I have never felt this way about another person. At least, not like this. There is something about you that feels strangely familiar and completely new at the same time.

We laugh at the same things. We love food. We seem to want the same kind of life. Neither of us seems particularly interested in chasing some extravagant existence. We want something simple. Something peaceful. A life where the bills are paid, there's food in the pantry, there's laughter, affection, and someone beside us who genuinely wants to be there.

Nothing fancy.

Just happy.

And somehow, our visions of that life seem to line up remarkably well.

We have so much in common, but we're different enough that I never feel like I'm talking to a mirror. There's something about our differences that makes me want to know you more, not less.

I feel like our energies match.

At least, I think they do.

And maybe I'm wrong.

That's what frightens me.

Because we're both married. We're both unhappy. We both have complicated circumstances and lives that can't simply be swept aside because two people happened to find each other.

I don't want to be reckless with that.

I don't want either of us making decisions in the heat of something that feels overwhelming only to wake up later surrounded by consequences we weren't prepared for.

And I don't want to be another source of pressure in your life.

I know you know some of my story. You know that life hasn't exactly been gentle with me, and that I've had my share of things to navigate. You've seen some of the more vulnerable parts of my life, and you've never made me feel like they made me less worthy of being known.

Sometimes I wonder if knowing those things makes you hesitate. Maybe it makes you cautious about getting too close. I wouldn't blame you for that. I understand that letting someone into your life means accepting not only the easy parts, but the realities that come with them.

And maybe that's part of why you've been careful.

I respect that.

I just don't know whether that caution comes from uncertainty about me, or uncertainty about what you feel for me.

And I respect that.

What I don't know is whether you feel something similar beneath all that caution.

Do you miss me when we don't talk?

You've said you did.

Do you think about me when I'm not there?

You say you do.

Do you ever find yourself wondering what it would be like if circumstances were different?

Do you ever feel that strange pull toward me that I feel toward you?

I want to know.

God, I want to know.

But I don't want you to tell me until you actually know.

If you're uncertain, please be uncertain.

If you need time, take it.

If you're afraid, you can tell me you're afraid.

If you don't know what this is yet, that's okay too.

I would much rather wait for an honest answer than receive a comforting one that isn't completely true.

Because the truth matters to me more than reassurance.

And I don't want you answering because you're afraid that telling me you aren't sure will hurt me.

I'll survive uncertainty.

What I don't want is for either of us to make something this important into something it isn't just because we're afraid of losing it.

Because I don't want to lose you.

That's the part I haven't known how to say.

I'm afraid that asking you how you feel might somehow change what we have. That you'll feel pressured. That you'll pull away. That I'll suddenly become another complication you have to manage.

I don't want that.

I don't want to force a door open that you're not ready to walk through.

I can be patient.

I really can.

What I'm struggling with is the wanting.

Because I want you.

Not just physically. Not just romantically.

I want the possibility of you.

I want the ordinary things I find myself imagining sometimes. Making dinner together. Grocery shopping. Sitting around doing absolutely nothing. Laughing at some stupid joke only we find funny. Waking up next to someone who feels like home.

Nothing extravagant.

Just a simple life with someone I love and who loves me back.

And when I imagine that life lately, you're the person who keeps appearing in it.

That's a frightening thing to admit to someone I've never even spoken to.

But it's true.

The ache of wanting to be with you can be surprisingly physical sometimes. I miss someone I've never actually held.

I don't know how that's possible.

But somehow, it is.

And maybe that's why I'm writing this instead of asking you outright.

Because I don't need you to decide anything.

I don't need you to promise me anything.

I don't need you to tell me what you think I want to hear.

I just want you to know that somewhere along the way, you became very important to me.

More important than I intended.

More important than I was prepared for.

And if there is something growing in your heart too, I hope someday you'll tell me.

Not today.

Not tomorrow.

Not until you're certain enough that the words are yours and not something you feel obligated to give me.

I'll wait for that.

Because if what I feel between us is real, I don't think it needs to be rushed.

Maybe the most honest thing we can do is simply keep being ourselves. Keep talking. Keep learning each other. Let time show us whether this is something fleeting or something neither of us can ignore.

I don't know where this goes.

I don't know if it goes anywhere at all.

But I know that I care about you.

I know that I think about you.

I know that I look forward to your messages.

And I know that, somehow, through nothing more than words on a screen, you've managed to reach a part of me that no one else ever has.

So for now, that's enough.

You don't owe me an answer.

You don't owe me certainty.

You don't owe me anything.

Just be honest with yourself.

And when you know what your heart is saying—whatever it says—I'll want to hear it.

Until then...

I'll be here.

~Me