nothing said, everything found.

love without looking.

yup,

it’s a poem i'm working on again.

but this time around,

i know it's real.

love does find you

when you least expect it.

like a soft knock

on a door you closed forever ago—

boarded up,

locked tightly,

and convinced yourself you’d never open again.

i’ve never fallen so hard before,

not this quick.

never felt this way before—

so sure, but lost,

shaken, but still,

all at the same time.

the way he looked into my eyes,

like he’d been searching for them,

like he found something he lost

without even knowing.

and the way i admired his,

taking it all in

just in case i never see him again.

his eyes.

those ocean-deep,

sky-wide,

beautiful blues.

they didn’t just look at me—

they understood me.

they held me.

he looked so calm when we reunited,

like seeing me again

was something he always knew would happen.

making eye contact with him

was a feeling like nothing before.

it wasn’t frightening,

wasn’t forced.

it was effortless,

it was warm,

it was perfect.

i wasn’t prepared

for how easy it felt

to be seen like that—

like he was reading my soul,

and loved each page.

even though he hates sad books,

and my story is the saddest of them all.

like two people

recognizing home

in someone else’s gaze.

he remembered me

from the summer prior.

despite the fact that now

my hair is darker and longer,

i’ve learned how to do my makeup,

and finally retired those pesky glasses.

the summer we met, we rode through the woods,

moonlight cutting through the trees.

the sound of his little brothers on four-wheelers fading

as we sped into the distance—

me warning him not to hit the trees.

the wind flowing through our hair,

the thrill of the speed,

the way we’d lift in the air

as we flew over small hills.

how we collapsed by the fire with our families,

as it cast a soft glow over our faces,

everyone laughing,

talking until the stars

took over the sky—

like the world was ours.

i didn’t understand him then,

didn’t understand

why i was being dragged out of the house

to ride through the woods

with a boy i wasn’t interested in.

but now?

i ache to be by his side,

drifting through the trees,

like we did that warm,

july night.

but still,

a year later,

he studied me

like my facial features were unchanged.

like the edges of my face

still looked like his hands could cup perfectly.

his hands—

soft yet rough like weathered stone.

calloused from work and dirt,

tracing stories of hard days

and quiet strength.

and still,

they had this gentleness,

a careful smoothness

when he’d slip something into mine.

and even though

i hate the feeling of dirty hands,

i’d hold his

without thinking twice.

it didn’t feel wrong—

it felt like they belonged there.

not mine to hold,

not yet mine to keep.

just a mutual liking,

a quiet spark

that might one day

grow into something more.

we talk like old friends,

he invites me to his races,

we bicker during cornhole,

and he laughs

as i throw the bean bags off-target.

he gives me his soda-can tabs,

despite having a collection of his own.

still, he rips them off the can

and slides them across the table

like tiny treasures

meant just for me.

i lecture him about saving money—

how spending thousands on sunglasses is irrational,

how life doesn’t always go according to plan.

he says he’ll listen,

then smirks and tells me

he’s dropping five grand on a car.

he talks about his future—

skipping college,

going straight into trade work.

“all the mistakes go into construction,”

he says,

tipping his chair back

and fixing his hat.

i replay that moment in my head—

the way he effortlessly looked so unbothered,

and so good-looking,

as the sun shone over his features,

making his eyes glimmer more.

but what he said,

it’s not true.

because if he were a mistake,

then the way i feel would be too.

and that's not mistaken,

because it’s love without looking.

and even though we're not together,

even though nothing’s said aloud—

we still found each other,

in the spaces between words,

the quiet warmth of being near.

and maybe that's all it’ll ever be—

a beautiful might-have-been,

a quick almost.

and maybe,

that's what makes it linger

just a little longer.

but sometimes

even the smallest moments,

the quietest connections,

are the ones that grow roots—

roots that last,

slowly,

softly,

and without demand,

unlike other relationships.

and who’s to say

that isn’t the start of something more?

that the relationships that grow

from sweet, small moments,

are the ones that last lifetimes.

not loud,

rushed,

or toxic.

but real,

in its own way,

at its own speed.

because love like this

doesn't always need a name to be true.

it just needs to be felt,

slowly,

but surely.

until one day,

it’ll grow into our future—

not just his.