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You remember what I love, and I remember the things you quietly dislike.
Maybe that is one of the purest forms of love.
Not just knowing someone’s favourite song, food, place, or colour.
But knowing what makes them go silent.
What makes them uncomfortable.
What kind of day makes them withdraw.
What kind of words stay with them longer than they admit.
To love someone is to pay attention.
To notice.
To remember.
To know what makes their heart lighter, and what makes it heavy.
You remember the little things that make me smile.
And I remember the things that make your world feel a little harder.
So when life gets too much for you, I don’t want you fighting it alone.
You don’t need to explain every storm before I stand beside you.
You don’t need to tell me exactly what happened before I decide to stay.
You don’t have to look strong for me.
If tonight feels heavy, I’ll stay until it feels a little softer.
If your mind gets too loud, I’ll sit with you until the noise settles.
If you don’t feel like talking, then we won’t talk.
I’ll still be there.
Because love is not only being there when someone is easy to understand.
It is learning the parts of them that are complicated too.
Knowing what hurts them and becoming careful with it.
Knowing what scares them and never using it against them.
Knowing when they need reassurance, when they need silence, and when they simply need someone close enough to remind them that they are not carrying everything alone.
You have spent enough nights trying to be strong by yourself.
Enough time standing in storms and pretending the rain doesn’t hurt.
You don’t have to do that with me.
On your best days, I’ll celebrate every part of you.
On your worst ones, I’ll sit beside you without making you feel guilty for having them.
And if all you can do some days is survive the day, then I’ll never ask you to be more than that.
Maybe this is what love really comes down to.
To know someone deeply.
To remember what they never thought anyone would notice.
To protect the parts they trusted you enough to reveal.
To see through every smile, every silence, every “I’m fine.”
And still choose them.
Again and again.
So if one day the whole world feels too heavy, you don’t have to ask whether I’ll stay.
I want you to already know the answer.
I see you.
The soft parts.
The difficult parts.
The tired parts.
The parts you hide from everyone else.
All of you.
And I’m still here.