Ghosts of the Navigator

I love people quietly. It’s safer that way. But they do deserve better.

---

Some students never knew I stayed up late rereading their lab reflections.
Never knew I noticed when they started showing up later. Quieter.
More brittle.

They never knew I caught their sighs.
Not the loud ones.
The ones they tried to bury under “I’m fine.”

Some friends never knew I was proud of them.
Never knew I mentioned them in conversations they weren’t around for.
Never knew I kept their secrets, even from myself, out of loyalty.
Never knew how they’ve helped me without realizing it.

And the people I’ve loved the most;
They’ll probably never know any of this.
Not because I didn’t feel it.
But because I never found the right way to show it
until they were already gone.

I love people the way you carry a small stone in your pocket.
Not for use. Just for knowing it’s there.
To grip.

It’s not that I’m afraid to say it.
It’s just that by the time I figure out how,
they’ve usually moved on.

I leave people letters I never send.
I write long, thoughtful messages; and then delete them.
Not because I don’t care.
But because I care so much it strangles the message.

So I’ve had to find other ways to love people.

Not by checking in.
Not by remembering birthdays or following through on plans I don’t have the energy for.
But by staying in their orbit.
By thinking about them when I’m driving home.
By wishing I had more to give, and meaning it.
By realizing it’s nowhere near enough.

My version of love is still growing.
Still incomplete.
Like a seedling in desperate need of water.
But it’s here. It’s real. It’s mine.

Not everyone understands that kind of love.
But to the ones who do;
I give it without asking for anything back.
They don’t have to know.

I’ve always been good at loving people in motion.
I just haven’t figured out how to let any of them stay.

And if they ever find this;
I hope they know it was real.
And I tried.