𝓘𝓯 𝓛𝓸𝓿𝓮 𝓦𝓮𝓻𝓮 𝓓𝓲𝓯𝓯𝓲𝓬𝓾𝓵𝓽

They would call this difficult.

As if difficulty were a flaw...

Rather than proof.

That something is asking to be kept.

We were never given ease.

No clean timing.

No gentle beginning.

Only pieces.

Half-lit moments,

Almosts that could have been enough

To end,

If we were weaker.

But we weren’t.

So we stayed.

Not in the way people romanticize...

Not soft, nor simple.

But deliberate.

Like learning the shape of each other,

In the dark,

Without breaking what we touched.

We adapted.

You learned where I fracture.

I learned where you disappear.

And instead of leaving,

We adjusted the weight of our hands.

That’s the part no one tells you...

Love like this doesn’t survive...

Because it’s easy.

It survives...

Because two people decide,

Again and again,

That it should.

Even when it would be simpler,

To let it fall apart,

And call it fate.

Even when the world,

Offers you cleaner options.

Quieter ones.

But nothing has ever felt...

As precise as this.

As if every version of me,

Was always meant,

To arrive here.

Bruised, aware,

And finally… understood.

So no!

I won’t call this difficult.

Like it’s something to fear.

I’ll call it rare.

I’ll call it earned.

I’ll call it the kind of right

That doesn’t come gently...

But stays.

Because it isn't easy...

It was never meant to be common.

Its meant to be ours.