Luna Echoes

I keep asking myself—how do you really know when it’s love?

When we met, there wasn’t some movie moment. No slow-motion glances. No spark that knocked me off my feet. It was quieter than that. Smaller. But it stayed.

Something in me wanted to stick around. Just… to listen. To understand you. To be near, without needing to explain why.

It’s hard to put into words. Like the universe gave me a small nudge and said, “This one. Don’t walk away yet.”

So I didn’t.

And now? You’re the thought that shows up when everything else fades.
You’re who I search for in a room, even when I know you’re not there.
You’re the one voice I want to hear when the noise in my head gets too loud.

You’re not overwhelming, not loud about it—but you’ve taken up space in my life in the most natural way. Like you’ve always been meant to be there. Like home, almost.

Talking to you feels like exploring.
Time slips when we’re together.
Even when I’m tired, I stay. Because five more minutes with you still feels worth it.

And yet, I still find myself wondering—is this what love feels like?

People say love is more than comfort or want or happiness.
So… what is this?

Is it love when I think about your heart more than my own?
When the tiniest things—songs, weather, coffee, late-night silence—make me wish you were there to share it with me?

Is it love when I want to protect your peace, carry your pain, clap for your wins, and sit beside you through whatever life throws?

Because I feel that. All of it.

I see every part of you—even the ones you try to hide.
The quiet doubts. The moments you hesitate. The walls. The pieces chipped by life.
And still, something in me says: stay.

I don’t love you in spite of all that. I love you because of it.
I don’t want perfect. I just want you.

You’re everything I hoped for without realizing I was hoping.
The calm I never knew I needed.
The soft spot I land in when the world feels too sharp.

So maybe I don’t have the right words.
Maybe this isn’t textbook love, the kind that gets written about in songs or movies.

But whatever this is—it’s real.
And I don’t want to lose it.
Not now. Not ever.