By Angelica Dsouza
I used to fall in love
with love itself
the kind that walked
hand in hand down quiet streets,
soft smiles, wrinkled eyes full of
stories and still, still so much light.
I’d see old couples and
dream of forever, wondering
where love hides when the world
feels so loud.
I thought maybe it was tucked
in letters, in songs,
in someone almost right.
but love didn’t come
with fireworks or grand arrivals.
it came gently.
it came as him.
he didn’t just show up,
he reminded me that maybe
I’d been looking everywhere
but home.
he fixes my problems
without making a fuss,
quietly stepping in
when things get tough.
he doesn’t need praises
just does the small things
that help me
breathe easier.
he tries,
every day,
to be a better version of himself,
not for anyone else,
but for me
because he cares.
he listens.
really listens.
the kind of listening
that makes me feel safe,
even when my words fall short.
no judgment,
just understanding.
his love doesn’t rush or demand.
it simply is steady, soft, and sure.
he was there all along not late,
not early, just… right on time.
like god whispered,
“this is who i made for you”
and now,
when I look at the photo I
took of that old couple,
I don’t just see strangers.
I see a promise,
a glimpse of us years from now
his hand still in mine,
my heart still choosing him
in every season.
we’re not a picture yet, not
a forever written in full but we’ve begun the story.
and I can’t wait
to grow old with him
and be the couple
someone else falls in love
with from across the street.
