I say “I love you,” and it means I hold the whole map of you,

the bright places and the shadowed corners you hide from yourself.

It means I don’t try to redraw you. I walk beside you instead,

even when the path bends, even when you’re tired and quiet

and don’t know what you need yet.

It means I listen. You speak, or don’t, and I stay.

It means you listen too, without sharpening my softness into something smaller.

It means we both show up, even on the days when our moods don’t match,

when one heart feels heavy and the other feels hurried.

It means I think of you in the in-between hours,

and you let me in without fear of being misunderstood.

It means holding on without gripping too tight,

trusting the thread between us to stay strong on its own.

“I love you” is our small constellation;

your light beside mine, neither outshining, neither dimmed.

It means I choose you, and you choose me,

not because we are perfect,

but because our imperfections fit like two halves of a story

still daring to continue.

So I say I Love You.