You Are Loved. You Are Loved. You Are Loved.

Not because you made the bed
or remembered the milk
or said all the right things
with perfect timing.

Not because you were brilliant today
or productive
or funny
or strong.

But just—
because you are here.

Because when you walked in
with sleep in your eyes
or silence in your mouth
something in me softened.

Because your laugh
even the tired one
rings familiar
like a song I forgot I knew.

Because I see you—
not the version with the tidy answers
but the you that flinches
when you’re unsure,
the you that worries you’re too much
or not enough.

And I still choose you.
Especially then.

You don’t have to dazzle.
You don’t have to earn your place.
You don’t disappear
when you’re quiet,
don’t become less
when you unravel.

This is the romance they forgot to write about—
the kind with no spotlight
no swelling music
just steady hands
and soft eyes
and the holy work of staying.

I am not here
for your brilliance,
though you are brilliant.
I am not here
for your usefulness,
though you give so much.

I am here
because you are.

You are loved.
You are loved.
You are loved.

That’s the whole poem.
And the rest of our lives
might just be
learning how to believe it.