The thing about loving you is that I kept finding you in rooms you'd never been in.
The thing about loving you
is that I kept finding you
in rooms you'd never been in —
the way the light fell on Tuesday,
the smell of rain before it decides to fall,
a song I didn't know I knew the words to.
I think that's what love does.
It moves into everything
long before you notice it's arrived.
And long after.
These are not small things. I've just been calling them that so I wouldn't have to admit how much I've needed them.
It didn't arrive the way you thought it would. No trumpet. No clear sign. Just a quiet Tuesday where you did the thing that felt true.
There is something October does that no other month can manage — it makes the ending beautiful on purpose.
Somewhere under the person they needed you to be, there is someone who never forgot what they actually liked.