The Kind of Love That Lasts

I didn’t fall for you all at once.
It happened the way seasons change—
so gradual I almost missed it.
One day your name was just a sound,
the next it felt like a place
my heart kept wanderin’ back to.

I’ve loved the reckless kind before—
the kind that roars like a summer storm,
loud and fast,
promisin’ forever
then disappearin’ by morning.
That love taught me how to ache.
You taught me how to rest.

You don’t love me in a hurry.
You love me like an old pickup
that still starts every morning,
like a screen door that slams just right,
like hands that have worked hard
and still know how to be gentle.

I love the quiet things about you—
the way you listen without fixin’,
the way your eyes soften
when my voice starts to shake.
You make space for my silence,
and somehow it never feels empty.

Your love feels like late afternoons,
sun leanin’ low over the fields,
crickets tuning up for the night.
It feels like drivin’ with no radio,
just the hum of the road
and nowhere else I need to be.

I don’t need diamonds or big declarations.
I need the way you reach for my hand
without thinkin’.
I need the way you stay
when I’m tired,
when I’m stubborn,
when I’m not easy to love.

If we grow old together,
I imagine it slow—
rockin’ chairs and shared glances,
stories told for the hundredth time,
laughin’ before the punchline
because we already know it by heart.

And when my hair turns silver,
when my steps ain’t as steady,
I hope you’ll still look at me
like I’m somethin’ worth choosin’,
again and again,
even on the ordinary days.

Because this ain’t a love
that needs to be proven.
It’s built from stayin’.
From forgivin’.
From showin’ up
even when the shine wears thin.

You’re not the love
that swept me off my feet—
you’re the one
that taught me how to stand,
how to breathe,
how to believe
that home can be another heartbeat.

And if the world ever asks me
how I knew you were the one,
I’ll say this—
some loves feel like a spark,
but the real ones…
they feel like comin’ home.