Three Moments That Changed How I Love

I. The Kitchen at 2h11.

The kettle clicked off like a door deciding,

steam braiding the dark into something gentler.

I stood barefoot on a crumb constellation,

holding a mug that still remembered your mouth.

The silence wasn’t empty; it was accurate.

I whispered my own name to see if I’d answer—

And this is how love relearned my name.

II. The Crosswalk That Wouldn’t Hurry

Red hand, wet asphalt, buses sighing like old saints.

I thought about every sprint I mistook for devotion,

how I chased the green light and forgot my breath.

Cars ghosted by with couples inside, parallel lives.

I waited, not as a test, but as a practice.

When the light finally changed, I didn’t. I walked—

And this is how love remembered who I am.

III. The Phone I Didn’t Pick Up

Your name lit the glass like a lighthouse misaimed.

I watched it ring out, felt the room unclench,

and left the apology to find a better host.

Outside, the city kept rehearsing its storms.

Inside, I wrote a short list titled: “Terms & Kindness.”

I signed it with both hands and one steady heart—

And this is how love learned to stay when I do.