I used to wonder what kind of love could make a person stay devoted to someone even after death.
What kind of love could make someone stand still while the world kept telling them there were still people left to meet, when all they could do was kneel at the altar of a name no one else could touch, and know that nothing after would ever feel that sacred again.
I think I understand it now.
Because sometimes they are the only language your heart ever knew fluently. They are so perfect for you, specifically, that the thought of finding them again almost feels insulting. Sure, maybe you could find pieces of them scattered across other people—
but not all of it…
Not the whole person.
They would have set the standard so high it became unreachable.
We talk so much about how good it feels to be seen, but I don't think we talk enough about how it feels to see someone else just as clearly.
And maybe people don’t talk about that part because it’s actually rare.
Because most of the time, love is work. You learn someone slowly. You study them. You try. You misunderstand. You ask questions. You squint hard to figure out their tells, trying to make sense of what they cannot say yet.
But then sometimes, someone comes along and understanding them feels like second nature. You don't even have to think about what you need to do, you just know.
And when being with someone feels that effortless, choosing them over everyone else in the world feels like watching the sun rise.
It feels obvious.
Because of course it will.
It always does.