We have not known each other long. And yet, time has a strange way of bending when you are near—days stretch differently, moments linger longer, and silence itself feels changed. Before you, my hours passed like shadows slipping unnoticed across the floor. But now, every day begins and ends with the thought of you, as though you have quietly rewritten the rhythm of my life.
I never realized how quickly someone could become a necessity. How I could go from living comfortably alone to feeling the absence of your presence like an ache. I find myself reaching for you in the small hours—when the night is too quiet, when the weight of the day presses in, when I forget how to breathe through the noise in my head.
Then I remember your voice.
Your voice, soft and steady, like a lullaby that hushes my unrest. It doesn’t just sound like comfort—it is comfort, an anchor I didn’t know I needed.
Your eyes, too, undo me. The way they shine—not just with light, but with something deeper, something unnameable. The way they smile together with your lips. I love the way your eyes speak, as though they carry entire sentences without a word. They make me believe that perhaps the world still holds wonder, that perhaps I have not yet seen all that is worth loving. The way your dimple shows when you smile, when you laugh—like the world itself pauses to admire you for a moment, takes away the sane in me.
And then there is the way you speak to me. Gentle, patient, unhurried—as though nothing in me could ever be too much. As though all my storms can be weathered by simply standing beside you. There is safety in your voice, safety in your presence, safety in knowing that for a moment, I do not have to carry everything alone.
I love that you speak your mind, unafraid of honesty, unafraid to dream out loud. The way you talk about your future makes me want to believe in it with you, to see it unfold and take shape. I love how ambitious you are—how hard you try, how much you give, how you never stop pushing yourself to be better. There is something beautiful in your hunger to grow, in your relentless pursuit of the man you dream of becoming. And I want to be part of that journey. I want to stand beside you, to witness the becoming, to see you unfold into everything you’ve always wanted to be. To remind you, when you forget, that you are already enough, even as you strive for more.
These are but fragments, scattered pieces of what I love about you. And still, they feel endless. I wish you could see yourself the way I see you—how your light reaches further than you know, how you are softer and stronger than you realize, how simply being yourself is enough to shift the world around you.
I cannot yet say if this is love. Perhaps I am standing on the edge of it, not yet ready to name the vastness I feel. Or perhaps I am already inside it, only too afraid to admit how deeply it runs. All I know is this: I love the things about you that I have already uncovered, and I long to love the parts of you still hidden—the unspoken dreams, the quiet fears, the corners of your soul that even you have not yet touched.
Maybe it is too soon. Maybe it is reckless. But I want to love you in your entirety—every shimmer, every shadow, every secret you’ve yet to reveal.
And if this is not love yet, then it is the beginning of it.
And beginnings, I think, are just as beautiful.
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