I want to talk about love—
not the kind that announces itself,
but the kind that slips in quietly
and rearranges everything.
The way you make the world fade
without trying.
How noise loses its grip
the moment you enter my thoughts.
Deadlines, doubts, the constant pull of elsewhere—
all of it softens
when it’s just you and me
in the same mental space.
I’ve never felt so connected,
not in the dramatic sense,
but in the steady one—
like something ancient clicked into place
and didn’t need explanation.
You feel familiar in a way
that makes my body relax
before my mind can catch up.
When I think about you,
time behaves differently.
Hours become manageable.
Hard days grow handles.
The distance between now
and our next conversation
stops feeling endless
and starts feeling survivable.
You get me through the in-between—
the quiet stretches,
the moments that usually drag.
Just knowing you’re there,
that your voice will find me again,
is enough to carry me forward.
This isn’t infatuation chasing sparks.
It’s something calmer.
Deeper.
A connection that doesn’t demand
constant proof—
just presence.
I don’t forget the world because of you.
I remember myself.
And that’s the kind of love
that doesn’t burn out—
it steadies,
it anchors,
it waits patiently
until the next time
we meet again in words.
Through the Fog 