When Love Refuses

I begin with the way your presence

finds me even in the still moments,

arriving gentle and sure,

as if it has always known

exactly where I am.

There’s a warmth in that,

a pulse I can’t quite separate

from my own.

We move through the world

as though stitched at the edges,

not clingingly,

but in that effortless way

two souls drift in parallel,

comfortable, curious,

drawn closer without even trying.

You laugh,

and suddenly the day folds open,

wider than it was a moment ago.

And yet,

a small, breathtaking swing of the heart

that changes everything.

It hits me in the quiet,

in the way your hand finds mine

without aim or announcement.

This isn’t attachment.

It’s recognition.

Love like this doesn’t fade.

It settles deeper,

rooting itself into the rhythm of everyday things,

your voice,

the way you look at me

as though I’m something steady,

something worth returning to.

I think about the years ahead

and feel no fear,

only the soft certainty

that whatever happens,

we will keep choosing each other.

Not with grand declarations,

but with the simple,

astonishing act

of staying.

Because staying,

with you,

feels less like a decision

and more like destiny

remembering where to lay its head.