Out of love, I would learn the language of your silence,
so you’d never have to translate your hurt into words.
I would hear you even when you say nothing at all,
and stay close without asking you to be louder.
I would carry your worst days
the way dusk carries the sun,
gently, quietly,
never asking it to shine when it is tired of burning.
I would make room for you
in moments you don’t feel worthy of taking space,
and remind you, softly, patiently,
that you were never meant to shrink to be loved.
I would stand between you
and the parts of the world that forgot how to be gentle,
not as a shield made of force,
but as a presence that says, you are safe here.
I would love you patiently,
the way roots love the soil,
doing their work unseen,
holding everything together
without ever asking to be seen.
And out of loving you,
I would finally understand
what unconditional truly means,
not as a promise spoken,
but as a devotion lived,
every single day.