The Way I Understand You

You do not arrive in storms.

You arrive like steady weather

reading the sky of my face

before I say a word.

When my light thins,

you don’t ask for explanations.

You simply stand beside the dimming and wait for the current to return.

You notice early the almost-invisible shift,

the pause in my voice,

the smile that forgot its cue.

And without making it heavy,

you begin mending the air.

You don’t rush me.

You don’t crowd the silence.

You offer solutions the way

someone sets down a warm cup within reach, never forced,

never claiming to cure everything.

You care about my smile

not as decoration,

but as proof that I am still

standing where I belong in myself.

When it fades, you simply stay

until it remembers its way back.

There is purpose in your kindness not loud, not declared.

You help because helping

is how you speak care.

You steady what you can,

then step back as if the work was never about you.

And always… always—

before you leave me to my day, you make me laugh.

Not a polite smile, but the kind that breaks through clouds

and returns color to the room.

Only then do you release me,

certain I am back in my own light.

You never claim responsibility

for the storms I carry. You only walk beside them until they pass.

Calm.

Unassuming.

Present.

This is how I understand you:

not as someone trying to fix my life, but as someone who stands steady while I live it.

And in that quiet steadiness,

I find myself smiling again

not because you asked me to,

but because you waited

until it was real.

Blessed valentine 

Ysomi.