Your name
doesn't sound like a word to me anymore—
it feels like a place
I keep returning to.
Like a house with warm lights
on a tired evening,
like tea that understands
how your hands feel in winter.
I don't just say your name—
I rest in it.
And sometimes,
I whisper it slowly…
just to feel
how soft life can be.
You don't know this,
but I flirt with you
even in my thoughts.
I imagine telling you
something silly—
just so you roll your eyes
and secretly enjoy
that I chose you
to be annoying with.
Because love isn't always poetry—
sometimes it's mischief,
sometimes it's teasing,
sometimes it's
"don't go yet"
disguised as
"okay, bye."
But listen—
If love ever becomes heavy for you,
I want to be the one
who makes it lighter.
Not a burden.
Not a pressure.
A peace.
I will respect your silences,
your moods,
your storms—
because loving you
means understanding
that you are human,
not a fantasy I control.
And still…
you feel like magic.
If happiness had a face,
it would look a little like you
when you forget
to guard your smile.
And if I could give you a gift—
not something you hold,
but something you feel—
I would give you certainty.
That I am here.
That I am real.
That I am not leaving
when things stop being easy.
Because anyone can stay
when love is beautiful—
but I want to stay
when love becomes work,
when it asks for patience,
when it demands truth.
I want to love you
in a way
that doesn't cage you—
but frees you.
So you never feel
like you have to be perfect
to be loved by me.
Just…
be you.
That's already
more than enough.