“Nothing Else Matters”
A poem from her to him
He is a mountain kind of quiet,
steady and soft,
like old trees that don’t sway unless the wind means it.
She, a storm from the South,
warmth wrapped in firelight,
carving laughter into the room with every glance.
Three hundred miles stretch between their lives,
but not their hearts.
Love rides shotgun with the windows down,
music too loud,
both of them singing like the road was made for this—
like the wind
was carrying them home.
They count the weekends like prayers,
because the in-between hurts.
But when he’s near,
the world stills.
His hand finds hers
and all the noise fades.
She’s got little feet running through her house,
bedtime stories folded between the laundry.
He’s got calloused hands
and the kind of voice that feels like morning.
The moment he walks in,
everything loud in her head
goes quiet.
Once the house is quiet,
toys tucked away,
and little hearts dreaming down the hall,
they hold each other close in that quiet way—
like peace finally came looking for them.
They talk without talking.
They love without trying.
They let the night have them
just as they are.
Maybe one day
goodbye won’t be part of the drive.
Maybe the spaces between
will shrink until there’s no “your place” or “mine”—
just “ours.”
But until then—
they will keep driving,
keep kissing in the kitchen
with tired eyes and unspoken grace,
keep existing
in that beautiful, impossible middle place.
Let the music carry what words ain’t enough
They hold each other close in the softest way
Fall asleep tangled, forgettin’ the day
And nothing else matters—not the time or the place
Just the way that he melts when she touches his face
Not the distance.
Not the past.
Not even the pain.
Just her
and him—
a boy from the hills,
a girl in the rain—
still choosing each other
again and again.