Love

I start with a strange confession,

the kind that feels too tender to say aloud.

Something in me recognized you

long before the world gave us a reason.

It was not logic,

not even hope,

just a quiet certainty,

like music heard through a wall

before the door is opened.

I felt you in moments I couldn’t explain:

a sudden warmth in a crowded street,

a pause before sleep

where an unnamed face lingered behind closed eyes.

I didn’t know your voice,

yet my heart seemed to practice answering.

Then everything turned.

The day we met was ordinary,

until it wasn’t.

Until the air grew brighter,

until my pulse found a rhythm it had rehearsed

without knowing why.

Recognition isn’t always a bolt of lightning;

sometimes it’s a deep breath you didn’t know you were holding,

finally released.

And there you were,

not a dream,

not a hope,

but someone real enough to hold,

to build a life with,

to love in every small and staggering way.

It felt less like discovery,

more like return,

as though every scattered piece of me

had been quietly waiting for this moment to arrive.

Now I understand:

sometimes the heart knows

long before the world catches up.