The First Time I Loved Without Saying "I Love You"

The First Time I Loved Without Saying "I Love You"

I never told you.

Not because I didn’t want to... but because I didn’t know how to.

How do you say "I love you" when it feels bigger than the words? When it’s in the way I memorized the sound of your laugh, or how I noticed you always tuck your hair behind your ear when you're nervous?

I loved you in the quietest way possible.

In stolen glances. In small silences filled with everything I never said.

I remember the day you cried — not the loud kind of cry, but the one where your eyes glisten and you try to smile anyway. You said you were just tired, and I nodded like I believed you. But inside, I was screaming to hold you together. I didn’t. I just sat there... close enough to feel your sadness, too far to touch it.

That was the day I realized — I loved you.

I loved you when you talked about your dreams like they were made of fragile glass, and I listened like I was holding every piece with bare hands.

I loved you in every goodbye that I made sound casual, when what I meant was "Please don’t go."

I remember once you asked me, “Why do you always look like you have something to say?”

I smiled. You smiled back.

God, I wish you had asked me again.

Because I did have something to say.

I still do.

It’s been years now. People say you forget eventually. But I remember everything — the way your eyes lit up when you spoke about things you loved, the way your presence felt like coming home without needing directions.

And I still love you. Quietly. Silently.

Like I did the first time.

Without ever saying "I love you."