Occasionally I sit with my phone in my hand, staring at a message that’s just half-typed, questioning if I must read excessive into it– or if I should just breathe. Words never come out the way I wish. They catch in his throat. They stop. And in some way … I feel whatever anyhow.
It’s wild, the way love can exist in silence. The means I can feel him caring, assuming, fretting, even when he’s quiet or slow-moving to react. It’s not in the words. It remains in the area where words are missing out on. The little doubts, the unsent messages, the refined energy that hums between us.
I made use of to panic in the stops. I utilized to require evidence. I utilized to assume, If I can’t see it, maybe it’s not there. But slowly, I found out to trust the invisible. I found out that the heart has its very own language, and if I’m paying attention very carefully, I can feel fact in the voids.
There’s something so intimate about that. Something so sacred. The truth that a person’s care can reach me without talking, without inputting, without clarifying. It’s educating me perseverance. It’s instructing me depend on. It’s instructing me to believe in love that does not constantly follow the rules I believed I recognized.
And it’s breaking me open– in the most effective method. Because when you learn to really feel somebody’s energy like this, you begin to see love differently. You see it as something active, something liquid, something that doesn’t require to be shown continuously.
I’m learning to let the quiet moments speak. To honor the sensation that’s bigger than words. And I believe … that’s where genuine affection lives. In the unspoken, in the energy, in the areas in between the sentences.
It’s hard. However it’s lovely. And it’s ours.