I don't usually imagine
things this far ahead.
I stay in the moment,
I keep things simple,
I don't let my mind
build stories
that might not happen.
But you—
you changed that.
Now I catch myself
thinking about days
that don't even exist yet.
Mornings
where your name
is the first thing I say—
not because I have to,
but because it feels right.
Evenings
where silence between us
doesn't feel empty—
it feels like home.
And I pause…
because this is new.
This certainty.
This quiet confidence
that maybe—
you're not temporary.
Maybe you're
the kind of person
who stays.
And I don't say that lightly.
Because I've seen
how easily people leave.
How quickly feelings change.
How promises
become memories.
But when I look at you—
I don't see something fragile.
I see something
worth building.
Something
worth protecting.
And yes…
I still notice
the way your eyes play with mine.
The way you say things
that almost mean more
than you admit.
The way you come close—
then hesitate.
But even in that hesitation—
I see something real.
Something honest.
Something growing.
And I don't want to rush it.
Because what I see
when I imagine us—
is not a moment.
It's a life.