It Doesn’t Show Off. It Stays.

The kind that lasts doesn’t need a stage.
It doesn’t dress up to prove its worth.
It remembers how you take your tea.
It gets the lights right before bed.

It doesn’t try to win you back with noise.
It never left.

You won’t find it in anniversary posts.
But you’ll feel it when someone listens without interrupting.
When they ask if you’ve eaten.
When they offer the last piece of chocolate and mean it.

It’s not bored by your silence.
It shares the silence with you.
It doesn’t rehearse lines.
It pays attention.

It won’t sweep you off your feet.
But it’ll walk beside you when your legs give out.
Hold the umbrella when you don’t realize it’s raining.
Tuck in your charger before sleep.
Refill the water bottle you forgot again.

This kind of love doesn’t burn bright and fast.
It burns slow and long.
The kind you don’t notice until the power goes out—
and there it is, still warm, still working.

You can’t brag about it.
You can only live in it.
And when everything loud quiets down,
you’ll realize:
this is what safe feels like.