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 quietly.
I carry them around with me longer than they probably know.
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.
Not everyone understands that kind of love.
But the ones who do don’t ask for proof.
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.
Ghosts of the Navigator 