Held by What We Hold.

Not all love has hands or breath.

Some of it lives in the soft-bent spine of a book
that falls open to your favorite page.
Or in the way the worn hoodie remembers your shape like a lullaby.

The chipped mug with a fading design that still warms your mornings, holding tea like it holds
the memory of every trembling night you needed something to hold you.

Shoelaces double-knotted by tired fingers, proof that something
was trying to keep you grounded, even if you weren’t sure you wanted to stay.

The teddy bear you outgrew but never abandoned… still sitting upright,
stitched with the silence of every bedtime tear it never asked you to explain.

Even the cracked phone screen, touched more gently
than some people have touched you, still lights up
when you need a voice what knows your name.

Love isn’t always loud. Sometimes it’s the lamp that flickers but never goes out.
The keychain you fidget with when you’re anxious.
The blanket that smells like the version of you
who still believed in softness.

Not all love speaks. Some of it listens.
Waits.
Carries.
Some love
doesn’t need to be seen but longs to be felt.

And some things, quiet and loyal, love us exactly as we are.