I love people quietly. It’s safer that way. But they do deserve better.
I love people quietly.
Some students never knew I stayed late to re-read their lab reflections. Never knew I noticed when they started showing up later, quieter, a little more worn down. Never knew I caught the sighs. Not the loud ones. The defeated ones.
Some friends never knew I was proud of them. Never knew I mentioned them in conversations they weren’t around for. Never knew I remembered the little things they told me months earlier and asked about them when the time came.
Some people probably have no idea how often I think about them.
I leave letters I never send. I write long, thoughtful messages and then delete most of them because somewhere along the way I decide I’ve made it too much.
Sometimes what remains is just:
Thinking about you.
Hope you’re doing okay.
Sometimes even that stays unsent.
It isn’t that I’m afraid to say I care. I don’t think so, anyway.
I just seem to put it elsewhere.
Remembering.
Checking in.
Showing up.
Making room.
Knowing when somebody needs to be asked twice and when they would rather not be asked at all.
I get that wrong sometimes.
Probably more than I know.
There are people I have loved badly. People I should have called. People I gave too much space because I thought that was kindness, when maybe they wanted me to come closer.
There are others I probably crowded when they needed room.
No secret language.
Mostly guessing.
But I notice people.
I notice when someone stops making the same joke. When a student who usually stays behind suddenly leaves first. When a friend says they’re fine in a way that sounds different from the last time they said it.
I don’t always do anything about it.
Sometimes I do.
A text.
Coffee.
Staying a little longer.
Remembering something they forgot.
Keeping a promise I made casually enough that they probably assumed I would forget.
That is usually where it ends up.
Not in speeches.
In small things.
Some of them noticed.
Some probably didn’t.
That’s alright.
I don’t think love has to announce itself every time it enters a room.
But if they ever read this, I hope they know.
I was paying attention.
I still am.
