How do i tell her

 I think she believes

that I loved her only for the shape of her body,

as if affection were a hunger,

as if closeness were a theft.

How do I explain to her

that I fell for the things she herself never noticed?

I fell for the nights she stayed awake for me,

when the world slept peacefully

and she chose exhaustion over silence,

choosing my voice over her rest.

I fell for the days that meant nothing to anyone else

the hours wasted on nonsense,

laughter without reason,

conversations that solved nothing

yet somehow held everything together.

I fell for the quiet soldier in her,

the one who never announced her strength

yet stood beside me every time I collapsed,

steady as ground beneath shaking feet.

I did not fall gently—

gravity forgot its mercy.

So hard that even my name slipped from me,

so hard that I remembered only hers

as if identity itself were negotiable

in the presence of someone like her.

I signed my heart in her name

without asking for ownership,

only praying she would never turn it into rubble.

I fell for her kindness

so deeply that even the earth refused to catch me,

as if the ground itself stepped aside

and said, “This fall belongs to the sky.”

I do not want her body.

I want the patience in her pauses,

the honesty in her tired eyes,

the way her presence makes silence feel safe.

How do I tell her

that my love is not possession,

not demand,

not hunger

but surrender?

That I am not asking her to be mine,

only asking her to understand

that some loves kneel,

some loves wait,

and some loves exist only to protect

what they can never claim.

How do I explain this to her

that I loved her

not with desire,

but with devotion?