What if love was just that—showing up in the small, unremarkable moments? Not fireworks or grand declarations, but a steady presence. The kind of care that says, “I’m here. I see you. I want to make life less heavy.”

We’d cook together, not out of duty but because it feels right—nourishing each other without ceremony. You’d fill my glass of water before I even realize it’s empty. I’d keep your favorite snacks tucked away for when you need comfort but don’t want to ask.

At a red light, we’d steal a kiss—not because it’s expected, but because we can’t help ourselves. That pull toward each other is just there, always.

Love like that? It’s not about grand gestures or perfection. It’s about knowing that life is exhausting, sometimes brutal, and choosing to carry a little of that weight for each other. It’s in folding the laundry when the other can’t. It’s in remembering how they like their coffee, even on the worst days.

It’s about making someone feel lighter in a world that often feels too heavy to hold alone.

That’s the kind of love that stays—not because it’s effortless, but because it’s chosen, over and over, in the quiet moments that no one else sees.