Still

When we met, when we got together, we were enough for each other.

We looked forward to Friday evenings—wine, chakna, and a movie. Nothing fancy. Just us.

When we had Myra and loved her more than we ever imagined, we still looked for those little moments we could steal for ourselves.

We looked forward to date nights at Independence—shared plates, butter chicken, and long conversations that didn’t need an ending.

When our world grew bigger—new friends, old friends, wider perspectives—we still checked in with each other, still wanted to come home to one another.

Now we have Bruno, and I still enjoy those walks up the hill or trips to the field, with you walking beside me.

Even though we’re together every day, my day doesn’t feel complete until we’ve shared what the day brought us—the small things, the silly things, the things that stayed.

My love for you isn’t about grand gestures anymore. It’s about choosing you on the ordinary days—the unremarkable ones, the days that don’t turn into stories.

You are home for me, even on the days I don’t say it out loud.

This kind of love shows up tired. It stays quiet instead of explaining. It doesn’t need to be right—it just needs to be present.

I see you now in ways I couldn’t before—in how you carry days that aren’t kind, in how you make space for everyone else before yourself, in how you keep things moving, even when no one notices.

And somehow, these are the days that matter the most.

I don’t know what the next years will bring us. I only know this — I still choose you. In the quiet. In the chaos. In the becoming.

Still.

For the life we keep choosing | 16-Jan-2026