There is a version of me
only he knows.
Not the “put together” version.
Not the “smiling for photos” version.
Not the “handling everything” version.
He sees the me that cries in the bathroom
when it’s all too much.
The me that overthinks one small comment for three days.
The me that gets quiet when I’m overwhelmed
and says “I’m fine” when I’m not.
He’s seen the messy bun,
the old T-shirt,
the late-night spirals,
the days I don’t even like myself…
and he still chooses me.
He still makes me laugh.
He still pulls me into his chest.
He still says, “You are okay. I got you.”
Everyone else sees pieces of me.
He sees all of me.
And that kind of love?
That’s different. 🖤
2025/12/30 Edited to
I love this 🥰