And if I loved you one day, it might begin quietly—like a whisper born in the wind that forgot its way. A love small and calm, tiny and light, tiptoeing through the alleys where shadows play, losing itself in the gentle bend of a river that doesn’t mind the detour. It would stretch out, spill freely into the sea, asking nothing, demanding less, just moving—just being.

In such a love, would your fingers know to find my hair, tangled in the breeze? Could your hands trace the mystery beneath a dress, not with possession but with awe? Would your voice, steady and soft, stand strong against the rustling of trees, or would it become part of the forest’s hymn?

And then, perhaps, if I loved you one day differently—loud and brave, tall and broad, cast in the hard light of the sky—you might find me soaring. In that love, I would be a wing flying freely against the sun, loose in a bird’s silent vow to the heavens. And your eyes—would they chase mine to that unlikely horizon? Would your laughter tumble out, wild and untrained, the way it did when you were still a boy? Would your chest fill, not with answers, but with joy too new to name?

But if that day never came, would you ever notice? Would you see that you already hold all the pieces: the wind, the road, the alleys, the river, the sea… every curve, every flight, every silent song? Would you find, even in absence, the possibility of laughter, the memory of happiness, the promise of love—waiting gently, patiently, quietly to be?

If I loved you one day…
It might not need to arrive.
It may already be.

©️ Beatriz Esmer