The Kind Of Love

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.  

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