Where I Choose to Stand

I’ve learned that love isn’t loud.

It doesn’t arrive with fireworks or neon signs

or the kind of drama movies like to brag about.

Real love walks in quietly,

like morning light slipping under a curtain,

soft but certain,

gentle but impossible to ignore.

And that’s what you are to me—

the quiet place my spirit goes

when the world sharpens its teeth.

The steady heartbeat in a room full of noise.

The warm thread of calm woven into the chaos

that sometimes tries to define our days.

I have watched seasons turn with ruthless speed,

seen hope stretch thin under the weight of life,

felt dreams crumble in my hands

like pages that got wet in the rain.

But you—

you stay.

Not because life is perfect,

not because everything is easy,

but because your love refuses

to vanish when things get inconvenient.

There’s a strength in that,

a kind of faith older than time,

the kind our parents hoped for

when they whispered quiet prayers at night.

The type of love that doesn’t lose itself

in temporary storms

or shifting shadows

or the night’s old tricks.

You are my shelter,

not the kind built from stone and wood,

but the kind shaped from patience,

from sacrifice,

from the simple, stubborn act

of choosing each other again and again

even when life tests us

with its unpredictable hands.

We’ve seen each other’s shadows,

and instead of running,

we stayed long enough

to learn their names.

We stayed long enough

to understand the places

that needed gentleness

instead of judgment,

warmth instead of silence.

There is something sacred in that—

not dramatic,

not loud,

just deeply human.

Love grows in those quiet corners

where most people forget to look.

In the soft “I’m tired, but I’m here,”

in the whispered “We’ll figure it out,”

in the way your hand finds mine

even when we’re both too exhausted

to explain what the day has taken.

And if the years reshape us—

if wrinkles settle like stories across our skin,

if our voices soften

and our steps slow with time—

I won’t mourn the years behind us.

I’ll honor the ones ahead,

because every version of you

is one I will choose

with the same certainty

that I breathe with.

I’ve seen love come and go

in the world outside our door.

I’ve watched people chase sparks

that burn fast and bright

and disappear just as quickly.

But what we have

is not a spark.

It’s a flame—

a slow, steady fire

that warms instead of blinds,

that lights instead of consumes.

And if someday

the world grows louder

than our memories,

if time tries to pull the softness

away from our hands,

know this—

I’ll hold on.

Not because I’m stubborn,

but because loving you

is not something I stumbled into.

It’s a place I choose,

over and over,

no matter what the seasons bring.

You are where I choose to stand.

In the storms.

In the stillness.

In the late-night quiet

where truth feels brave enough to speak.

In the early morning calm

where gratitude stretches its arms

and reminds me

that I am exactly where I’m meant to be.

Loving you

is not a moment,

not a spark,

not a story with a final chapter.

It is the long, steady path

my heart walks

with full confidence

and quiet joy.

A place I return to,

a place I protect,

a place I call home.

Loving you

is not a moment,

not a spark,

not a story with a final chapter.

It is the long, steady path

my heart walks

with full confidence

and quiet joy.

A place I return to,

a place I protect,

a place I call home.