u/bubblegumLarry

Bumblebee and Ladybug—

were chillin’ out at home,
nestled on a tulip leaf,
right beside a great big gnome.

Somewhere
in the distance,
there was
a curious sound.
So they both got up
to have a look around.

With a swoosh and a woosh,
the winds blew strong.
Bumblebee wondered,
“Is something wrong?”

The sky grew dark.
The garden went still.
Then the Great Grey Stork
landed with skill.

Carrying a bundle
snug to his chest,
he looked at two parents
about to give up rest.

With a tip of his beak
and a wish wished well,
the Great Grey Stork
had no time to dwell.

With a flip and a flap,
the Stork took flight,
leaving a tiny woven basket
in plain sight.

Bumblebee and Ladybug
began buzzing with glee,
excited to meet
their brand new
tiny little baby.

They tiptoed near
to say hello,
both of their faces
all aglow.

They leaned in close—

and what did they see?

Why, it’s the reason
that two became three.

Bumblebee and Ladybug—

were chillin’ out at home,
nestled on a tulip leaf,
right beside a great big gnome.

Somewhere
in the distance,
there was
a curious sound.
So they both got up
to have a look around.

With a swoosh and a woosh,
the winds blew strong.
Bumblebee wondered,
“Is something wrong?”

The sky grew dark.
The garden went still.
Then the Great Grey Stork
landed with skill.

Carrying a bundle
snug to his chest,
he looked at two parents
about to give up rest.

With a tip of his beak
and a wish wished well,
the Great Grey Stork
had no time to dwell.

With a flip and a flap,
the Stork took flight,
leaving a tiny woven basket
in plain sight.

Bumblebee and Ladybug
began buzzing with glee,
excited to meet
their brand new
tiny little baby.

They tiptoed near
to say hello,
both of their faces
all aglow.

They leaned in close—

and what did they see?

Why, it’s the reason
that two became three.

Bumblebee and Ladybug—

were chillin’ out at home,
nestled on a tulip leaf,
right beside a great big gnome.

Somewhere
in the distance,
there was
a curious sound.
So they both got up
to have a look around.

With a swoosh and a woosh,
the winds blew strong.
Bumblebee wondered,
“Is something wrong?”

The sky grew dark.
The garden went still.
Then the Great Grey Stork
landed with skill.

Carrying a bundle
snug to his chest,
he looked at two parents
about to give up rest.

With a tip of his beak
and a wish wished well,
the Great Grey Stork
had no time to dwell.

With a flip and a flap,
the Stork took flight,
leaving a tiny woven basket
in plain sight.

Bumblebee and Ladybug
began buzzing with glee,
excited to meet
their brand new
tiny little baby.

They tiptoed near
to say hello,
both of their faces
all aglow.

They leaned in close—

and what did they see?

Why, it’s the reason
that two became three.

Smiles find a way to surface for all the obvious reasons—
happiness,
habit,
the slow fading of nerves
when biting one’s tongue.
Sometimes,
embarrassment or fear,
or simply
to hide what your face might otherwise say.

Then there is this other kind.

The one that comes without a curve of the lips,
no chuckle,
no rosy cheeks.

It hides completely.

A single ping.
A sudden melody.
A word caught in the air.

One small reminder of them,
and the face reacts
without moving a muscle.

Just a joyous explosion—
a sudden warmth
beneath the skin,
settling like sunbeams
behind the eyelids.

And for a split second,
you are love.

Not in love.

Not loved.

Love.

It happens all the time.
It requires no audience.
No explanation.
No proof left behind on the surface.

Just the quiet realization
that some people stay
close enough
that just the thought of them
can make you smile on the inside

Smiles find a way to surface for all the obvious reasons—
happiness,
habit,
the slow fading of nerves
when biting one’s tongue.
Sometimes,
embarrassment or fear,
or simply
to hide what your face might otherwise say.

Then there is this other kind.

The one that comes without a curve of the lips,
no chuckle,
no rosy cheeks.

It hides completely.

A single ping.
A sudden melody.
A word caught in the air.

One small reminder of them,
and the face reacts
without moving a muscle.

Just a joyous explosion—
a sudden warmth
beneath the skin,
settling like sunbeams
behind the eyelids.

And for a split second,
you are love.

Not in love.

Not loved.

Love.

It happens all the time.
It requires no audience.
No explanation.
No proof left behind on the surface.

Just the quiet realization
that some people stay
close enough
that just the thought of them
can make you smile on the inside

Smiles find a way to surface for all the obvious reasons—
happiness,
habit,
the slow fading of nerves
when biting one’s tongue.
Sometimes,
embarrassment or fear,
or simply
to hide what your face might otherwise say.

Then there is this other kind.

The one that comes without a curve of the lips,
no chuckle,
no rosy cheeks.

It hides completely.

A single ping.
A sudden melody.
A word caught in the air.

One small reminder of them,
and the face reacts
without moving a muscle.

Just a joyous explosion—
a sudden warmth
beneath the skin,
settling like sunbeams
behind the eyelids.

And for a split second,
you are love.

Not in love.

Not loved.

Love.

It happens all the time.
It requires no audience.
No explanation.
No proof left behind on the surface.

Just the quiet realization
that some people stay
close enough
that just the thought of them
can make you smile on the inside

People often look for love—
like it’s something
that can be found.

Love comes in many
different languages.

The trick is
finding that person
who understands yours.

And it’s amazing
how seemingly lousy
so many of us are
at finding that.

The real kicker…

Love shows up
the way it wants to.

Sometimes,
it’s loud and proud.

It’s robust,
filled with grandeur.

It’s fun and exciting,
complete with intense moments,
fireworks
and high voltage.

But—

once every so often,
if you’re lucky…

love arrives quietly.

It slowly fills
the cracks and crevices
you didn’t know you had.

It changes the way you think.
The way you act.
How you speak.
Who you are.

And somehow,
all of this happens
without you realizing it.

Until one day
you notice—

all the best qualities
of the person
love picked for you
have become
part of you, too.

And that’s the thing
about quiet love…

It does not ask.

Least of all
permission.

It doesn’t care
about your life,
your job
or what your friends think.

Quiet love
just keeps filling
those cracks and crevices

until two people
are left standing
on a foundation of love—

with a whole bunch of shit
to figure out.

Bonds are formed
long before
they are ever needed.

Quiet love closes distance—
until letting go
becomes harder
than holding on.

There’s a saying
I’ve always liked:

“Not all who wander are lost.”

Sometimes
I wonder if
wandering into love

is why
so many people
look

lost.

People often look for love—
like it’s something
that can be found.

Love comes in many
different languages.

The trick is
finding that person
who understands yours.

And it’s amazing
how seemingly lousy
so many of us are
at finding that.

The real kicker…

Love shows up
the way it wants to.

Sometimes,
it’s loud and proud.

It’s robust,
filled with grandeur.

It’s fun and exciting,
complete with intense moments,
fireworks
and high voltage.

But—

once every so often,
if you’re lucky…

love arrives quietly.

It slowly fills
the cracks and crevices
you didn’t know you had.

It changes the way you think.
The way you act.
How you speak.
Who you are.

And somehow,
all of this happens
without you realizing it.

Until one day
you notice—

all the best qualities
of the person
love picked for you
have become
part of you, too.

And that’s the thing
about quiet love…

It does not ask.

Least of all
permission.

It doesn’t care
about your life,
your job
or what your friends think.

Quiet love
just keeps filling
those cracks and crevices

until two people
are left standing
on a foundation of love—

with a whole bunch of shit
to figure out.

Bonds are formed
long before
they are ever needed.

Quiet love closes distance—
until letting go
becomes harder
than holding on.

There’s a saying
I’ve always liked:

“Not all who wander are lost.”

Sometimes
I wonder if
wandering into love

is why
so many people
look

lost.

People often look for love—
like it’s something
that can be found.

Love comes in many
different languages.

The trick is
finding that person
who understands yours.

And it’s amazing
how seemingly lousy
so many of us are
at finding that.

The real kicker…

Love shows up
the way it wants to.

Sometimes,
it’s loud and proud.

It’s robust,
filled with grandeur.

It’s fun and exciting,
complete with intense moments,
fireworks
and high voltage.

But—

once every so often,
if you’re lucky…

love arrives quietly.

It slowly fills
the cracks and crevices
you didn’t know you had.

It changes the way you think.
The way you act.
How you speak.
Who you are.

And somehow,
all of this happens
without you realizing it.

Until one day
you notice—

all the best qualities
of the person
love picked for you
have become
part of you, too.

And that’s the thing
about quiet love…

It does not ask.

Least of all
permission.

It doesn’t care
about your life,
your job
or what your friends think.

Quiet love
just keeps filling
those cracks and crevices

until two people
are left standing
on a foundation of love—

with a whole bunch of shit
to figure out.

Bonds are formed
long before
they are ever needed.

Quiet love closes distance—
until letting go
becomes harder
than holding on.

There’s a saying
I’ve always liked:

“Not all who wander are lost.”

Sometimes
I wonder if
wandering into love

is why
so many people
look

lost.

People often look for love—
like it’s something
that can be found.

Love comes in many
different languages.

The trick is
finding that person
who understands yours.

And it’s amazing
how seemingly lousy
so many of us are
at finding that.

The real kicker…

Love shows up
the way it wants to.

Sometimes,
it’s loud and proud.

It’s robust,
filled with grandeur.

It’s fun and exciting,
complete with intense moments,
fireworks
and high voltage.

But—

once every so often,
if you’re lucky…

love arrives quietly.

It slowly fills
the cracks and crevices
you didn’t know you had.

It changes the way you think.
The way you act.
How you speak.
Who you are.

And somehow,
all of this happens
without you realizing it.

Until one day
you notice—

all the best qualities
of the person
love picked for you
have become
part of you, too.

And that’s the thing
about quiet love…

It does not ask.

Least of all
permission.

It doesn’t care
about your life,
your job
or what your friends think.

Quiet love
just keeps filling
those cracks and crevices

until two people
are left standing
on a foundation of love—

with a whole bunch of shit
to figure out.

Bonds are formed
long before
they are ever needed.

Quiet love closes distance—
until letting go
becomes harder
than holding on.

There’s a saying
I’ve always liked:

“Not all who wander are lost.”

Sometimes
I wonder if
wandering into love

is why
so many people
look

lost.

Some speak in straight,
predictable lines,
like clocks that keep
impeccable times.

The words are kind,
the thoughts are sweet,
but every sentence lands so complete.

The finest banter
leaves things unsaid—
a breadcrumb trail
instead of the bread.

A question tossed,
a sideways grin,
an open door to wander in.

It’s never about who’s wrong or right;
it’s who can make —
your thoughts take flight.

Who spots the joke
you tried to hide,
then sends it back with extra stride.

The sharpest echoes never race;
they linger,
laugh,
and
leave a trace.

Because the spark isn’t wit alone—
it’s finding the one
who catches your tone.

Who turns it over
and adds something new —
then throws it back…
better than you.

You’re my favorite way
to start the day.

My favorite kind
of play.

My favorite
little nerdy Nerd.

My favorite
spoken word.

My favorite smile
I never miss.

My favorite
type of kiss.

My favorite
Ya.

Indeed…

—

My favorite laugh.
My favorite view.

My favorite part
of all I do.

My favorite pause.
My favorite rhyme.

My favorite distraction.

Clearly —

My favorite attraction.

My favorite thought.
My favorite dream.

And every favorite
in between.

So…

To you,
with a kiss—

Remember this—

You are
my favorite
kind of Nerd.

And…

You can keep
my hoodie.

(Just remember…
cold water wash,
low tumble dry.)

Good morning
starts
with a
kiss.

Then it’s straight
to the list.

A blush,
a smile,
a laugh,
and
a grin—

But that’s just
where
I begin.

Every day
has one clear goal.

One mission.

One tiny
little role:

To say something
so sweet,
so silly,
so wonderfully
unexpected…

That my favorite
little nerdy Nerd

forgets every
clever word...

And simply says—

“Oooof.”

Sooo...

This ain’t no spoof —

Here is my proof:

I play
the silly goof.

(I Need a line
that ends in
poof.)

She knows
I’ll never
be aloof.

And because it’s her…

I hereby
behoof…

Making her
say,

“Oooof.”

Every.

Single.

Day.

Imma keep tryin’.

Because every
“Oooof”

is worth
a thousand

carefully chosen

words.

She is The Nerd,
Who loves to analyze every word.
She reads and she writes,
Keeping her awake most nights.

He is some dude
Known for his ‘tude
Who loves to play outside.

She has depth and grace,
Wisdom written across her face —
And her mind is always learning.

He has a kitchen
His food is bitchin —
He rocks a smile everywhere he goes.

She —
loves her home.
He —
prefers to roam.

She —
Isn’t very loud.
He —
stands out in a crowd.

They —
Are opposites through and through.

She loves her books,
In his kitchen he cooks —
The two of them were strangers.

And then one day,
They met at play
And something then was started.

They never should have met,
Each had their futures set.

And that’s where their story begins.

After fifty years of marriage, Hank still teased her with the same warning, but Rose knew the secret wasn’t that she’d let Hank chase her—it was that he’d never stop chasing her.

I could always talk.

Bullshit…

Actually.

I could always bullshit
my way through
just about any conversation.

It was something
I learned
growing up—

Living in one class
and
catering
to another.

A handy skill,
really.

Until…

my words
carried weight.

Not meaning…

Weight.

That’s a different
kind of intensity.

When words
carry weight —
they have impact.
They have power.
They have soul.

And if you’re lucky…
heart.

—

In my kitchen—
my words
are not pretty.

They are not
nice.

They are not
open for
interpretation.

They are
deadly accurate,
ice-cold,
calculated,
and…

final.

Those words
don’t carry weight.

They carry
consequence.

Sometimes…
knowledge.

Other times…
hurt.

And every once
in a blue moon…
confidence.

That’s the language
I understood.

Words
that changed
what happened
next.

—

Then…

I met
that little
nerdy Nerd
I like
to write about.

She didn’t react
to my words.

She…
paused.

She thought.
She reread them.

Asked questions
I hadn’t considered.

Found meaning
In what I tried
to say
but couldn’t.

Then she’d tell me
what she’d heard—

and somehow…

it wasn’t always
what I’d said.

—

That’s when
I realized…

Words don’t belong
to the person
who writes them.

They belong
to the person
who carries them
home.

A sentence
I’d forgotten
by lunchtime…
might still be
living
inside her
days later.

Changing shape.

Growing heavier.

Finding places
I’d never intended
them to go.

—

That’s terrifying.

And beautiful.

Because suddenly…

every joke
mattered.
Every compliment.
Every careless sentence.
Every poem.

Not because
I wanted them
to be perfect.

But because
someone
else was
carrying
my weight.

—

Turns out…

the weight
of my words
was never measured
by how loudly
I spoke…

or how cleverly
I wrote.

It was measured
by how gently
someone else
chose
to carry them.

Ya know…
Sometimes,
the softest voice
can carry the
loudest words.

I could always talk.

Bullshit…

Actually.

I could always bullshit
my way through
just about any conversation.

It was something
I learned
growing up—

Living in one class
and
catering
to another.

A handy skill,
really.

Until…

my words
carried weight.

Not meaning…

Weight.

That’s a different
kind of intensity.

When words
carry weight —
they have impact.
They have power.
They have soul.

And if you’re lucky…
heart.

—

In my kitchen—
my words
are not pretty.

They are not
nice.

They are not
open for
interpretation.

They are
deadly accurate,
ice-cold,
calculated,
and…

final.

Those words
don’t carry weight.

They carry
consequence.

Sometimes…
knowledge.

Other times…
hurt.

And every once
in a blue moon…
confidence.

That’s the language
I understood.

Words
that changed
what happened
next.

—

Then…

I met
that little
nerdy Nerd
I like
to write about.

She didn’t react
to my words.

She…
paused.

She thought.
She reread them.

Asked questions
I hadn’t considered.

Found meaning
In what I tried
to say
but couldn’t.

Then she’d tell me
what she’d heard—

and somehow…

it wasn’t always
what I’d said.

—

That’s when
I realized…

Words don’t belong
to the person
who writes them.

They belong
to the person
who carries them
home.

A sentence
I’d forgotten
by lunchtime…
might still be
living
inside her
days later.

Changing shape.

Growing heavier.

Finding places
I’d never intended
them to go.

—

That’s terrifying.

And beautiful.

Because suddenly…

every joke
mattered.
Every compliment.
Every careless sentence.
Every poem.

Not because
I wanted them
to be perfect.

But because
someone
else was
carrying
my weight.

—

Turns out…

the weight
of my words
was never measured
by how loudly
I spoke…

or how cleverly
I wrote.

It was measured
by how gently
someone else
chose
to carry them.

Ya know…
Sometimes,
the softest voice
can carry the
loudest words.

I could always talk.

Bullshit…

Actually.

I could always bullshit
my way through
just about any conversation.

It was something
I learned
growing up—

Living in one class
and
catering
to another.

A handy skill,
really.

Until…

my words
carried weight.

Not meaning…

Weight.

That’s a different
kind of intensity.

When words
carry weight —
they have impact.
They have power.
They have soul.

And if you’re lucky…
heart.

—

In my kitchen—
my words
are not pretty.

They are not
nice.

They are not
open for
interpretation.

They are
deadly accurate,
ice-cold,
calculated,
and…

final.

Those words
don’t carry weight.

They carry
consequence.

Sometimes…
knowledge.

Other times…
hurt.

And every once
in a blue moon…
confidence.

That’s the language
I understood.

Words
that changed
what happened
next.

—

Then…

I met
that little
nerdy Nerd
I like
to write about.

She didn’t react
to my words.

She…

paused.

She thought.
She reread them.

Asked questions
I hadn’t considered.

Found meaning
in what I tried
to say
but couldn’t.

Then she’d tell me
what she’d heard—

and somehow…

it wasn’t always
what I’d said.

—

That’s when
I realized…

Words don’t belong
to the person
who writes them.

They belong
to the person
who carries them
home.

A sentence
I’d forgotten
by lunchtime…
might still be
living
inside her
days later.

Changing shape.

Growing heavier.

Finding places
I’d never intended
them to go.

—

That’s terrifying.

And beautiful.

Because suddenly…

every joke
mattered.
Every compliment.
Every careless sentence.
Every poem.

Not because
I wanted them
to be perfect.

But because
someone
else was
carrying
my weight.

—

Turns out…

the weight
of my words
was never measured
by how loudly
I spoke…

or how cleverly
I wrote.

It was measured
by how gently
someone else
chose
to carry them.

Ya know…
Sometimes,
the softest voice
can carry the
loudest words.

My favorite little nerdy Nerd

Has a subtle thing—
For my written word.

So just to make her happy,
My thumbs go tap, tap, tappy
Across a glowing screen.

I wrote her some prose,
Just so she knows
The rhythm of my heart.

She loved every line,
Declared it sublime—
Leaving a
silly smile
lighting up my face.

The very next day,
With still more to say,
I took my time,
And decided to rhyme.

So away we go,
On with the show—
Here’s what I’ll tell you today:

She knows all my fears,
Has sat through my tears.

She’s heard me complain
Through sunshine and rain.

She knows when I bluff,
Or try to act tough—

Then gently reminds me
There’s no need.

With those blue-green eyes
She’ll thoughtfully analyze,
What it is I try to say.

Every word that I write—
Every wrong, every right.
Is just another clue.

She’ll point out a flaw
That I never saw,
Just to show off her IQ.

She makes every verse
A little less worse.
But keeps every line,
Because it’s mine.

Now every new rhyme
Is just borrowed time—

Another excuse
For me to let loose,
The feelings
in my
soul.

She’ll roll those bright eyes,
Dissect each surprise,
Correct half my grammar…
(Well… maybe not half.)

Then smile to herself,
Set my words on a shelf,
And quietly treasure
Them all.

So here’s one more page
To add to the stack.
A pile of papers,
All written in black.

Because that’s just what happens…

When a stubborn
kitchen dude
Meets
His favorite little
Nerdy Nerd.

My favorite little nerdy Nerd

Has a subtle thing—
For my written word.

So just to make her happy,
My thumbs go tap, tap, tappy
Across a glowing screen.

I wrote her some prose,
Just so she knows
The rhythm of my heart.

She loved every line,
Declared it sublime—
Leaving a
silly smile
lighting up my face.

The very next day,
With still more to say,
I took my time,
And decided to rhyme.

So away we go,
On with the show—
Here’s what I’ll tell you today:

She knows all my fears,
Has sat through my tears.

She’s heard me complain
Through sunshine and rain.

She knows when I bluff,
Or try to act tough—

Then gently reminds me
There’s no need.

With those blue-green eyes
She’ll thoughtfully analyze,
What it is I try to say.

Every word that I write—
Every wrong, every right.
Is just another clue.

She’ll point out a flaw
That I never saw,
Just to show off her IQ.

She makes every verse
A little less worse.
But keeps every line,
Because it’s mine.

Now every new rhyme
Is just borrowed time—

Another excuse
For me to let loose,
The feelings
in my
soul.

She’ll roll those bright eyes,
Dissect each surprise,
Correct half my grammar…
(Well… maybe not half.)

Then smile to herself,
Set my words on a shelf,
And quietly treasure
Them all.

So here’s one more page
To add to the stack.
A pile of papers,
All written in black.

Because that’s just what happens…

When a stubborn
kitchen dude
Meets
His favorite little
Nerdy Nerd.