This is a book about who you are, on the days you forget.
In which the sound of my name in her voice is named.
There's a way you say my name when no one is trying. softer, lower, like you forgot it was a word. I don't think you've ever heard yourself do it, but it's the version I keep.
In which the way she walks into my day is named.
The first sound of you on a call is always warmer than the day I was having. I don't think you plan it. you just show up like that, every time.
In which her quiet steadiness is named.
You hold things together without announcing it. the people around you lean on something they can't quite see, and that something is you. you've never asked anyone to notice, which is exactly why I do.
In which the smile she sends me in pictures is named.
You have a smile you only wear in the pictures you send me. it lifts everything in your face at once, like the camera caught you mid-thought about something good. I've saved more of them than I'll ever admit.
the one where your eyes go first.
In which the softness she keeps under weight is named.
You keep your softness when the week gets heavy. most people go quiet or sharp under that kind of weight, and you stay open. you'd call that nothing, but it is the whole thing.
In which the weight she has been carrying is named.
This season has asked a lot of you, and you have not put it down. I watch you carry it without making anyone else hold it. I am not trying to lift it off you tonight, bebe. I just want you to know I see how heavy it is.
you don't have to be lighter for me.
In which the warmth she brings into a room is named.
There is a kind of warmth you carry that settles a room before anyone notices you did anything. people relax around you without knowing why. I know why. being near you feels like the part of the day where you finally get to stop.
Mi amor ♡
Come here for a second. Put the week down.
I want to tell you what I saw this week, because I think you missed it. you were proud of me for finishing that project, and I don't think you noticed that you were tired when you said it. you had your own weight on you and you still made room to be soft with me, to make me smile, to make me feel loved on the days you barely had anything left for yourself. that is not a small thing, bebe. that is the thing.
and your mom. the way you've been showing up for her, quietly, without making it a story about how hard it is on you. I see it. I study it. the parts of you that you'd wave off if I said them out loud are the parts I pay the most attention to. the strength you don't count as strength because it just felt like love to you.
Tomorrow is my birthday, and I've been thinking about it all week. the gift isn't mine this year. I'm spending it giving you back to yourself, piece by piece, until you can see what I see.
Rest now, my love. you've done enough today. you've been enough, always.