Loves

She loves him in the quiet way a sunrise touches the horizon. gentle, certain, inevitable. Every morning she wakes with that soft glow beneath her ribs, like her heart finally recognizes its place. He is beside her in all the small moments that stitch a life together: the way he holds her hand when they cross the street, the way he listens with the patience of someone savoring a favorite book. He carries this steady warmth, a natural kind of goodness that draws trust without effort. When he talks about their future, he speaks with certainty. Not hope. Certainty. Loving her seems to be the easiest thing in his world, and she lets herself believe it. She adores the way he looks at her. It isn’t dramatic or loud; it’s soft, steady, as if she’s the only person in existence. Sometimes she catches him staring with that shy little smile, like he still can’t believe she’s real. And she blushes every time, surprised she gets to be loved this gently. Wherever they go, his fingers are laced with hers. He doesn’t waver. He doesn’t glance around. She believes he sees only her, wants only her, loves only her.