To My Future Lover,

I don’t know who you are yet,

but I’ve felt you in the in-between— in the spaces where I’ve cried, healed, screamed into pillows, and found my way back to myself.

You’ve been there in the silence, between pages of my journal and in the prayers I whispered when no one else was around.

I haven’t been waiting for you like I’m incomplete— I’ve been becoming.

I’ve been doing the work, loving on myself, choosing peace over patterns, grace over fear, and truth over ego.

I’ve been learning what it means to hold myself so when you show up,

I’ll recognize the way you hold me too.

I won’t come to you half-empty.

My cup will already be full.

But if you’re who I think you are— you’ll know how to pour into me without me asking.

And I’ll do the same.

I’m not here to beg for love, but I do want to feel safe in it.

To be met with presence,

to be challenged with compassion,

to be held when I’m soft,

and loved when I’m in shadow.

To be chosen—

not out of fear of being alone,

but because you know I’m it.

You’ll be someone who leads with faith.

Who honors God in how you move,

how you love me,

how you show up in the world.

Someone who doesn’t flinch at depth—

who’s done his own healing,

or at least ain’t afraid to try.

I won’t have to teach you how to see me.

You just will.

And if you’re out there somewhere—

doing your own growing, stumbling, evolving— know I’m doing the same.

And when it’s time, we’ll know.

We’ll just know.