If love asked me to explain itself, I’d bring it to this table. I’d show it the empty cup, Still warm with intention. I’d tell it how I stayed, Even when nothing promised to return. How your name learned my silence, And treated it gently. I would confess I was afraid of wanting this much. But want me did, And I let it. Every pause became a doorway, Every thought, an invitation. Love doesn’t always look dramatic; Sometimes it looks like trust, Practiced quietly. If you ever reach for me, You’ll find I never left. I’ve been here, Choosing you, In small, repeatable ways. And if given the chance, I would choose this moment, This tenderness, Again And again.
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