Future_Lawyer

Touch

I think I will love through touch before I ever love through words.

Not because words won't matter.

Because they will never be enough.

I imagine myself becoming someone who is always reaching for her. Not out of habit, but out of longing. Every excuse, no matter how small, becoming another reason to close the distance between us.

Walking through a crowd, my hand will naturally find the small of her back. Not to guide her, I know she'll know where she's going, but because I will want to feel, even for a second, that she is there. Maybe she'll hook a finger through my belt loop or hold onto the sleeve of my jacket while we weave between people. It will be the smallest thing in the world.

It will mean everything to me.

I think I'll become shameless about it.

I'll pass by her in the kitchen and squeeze her hip without thinking. I'll stop beside her for no reason other than to kiss the top of her head and whisper something she probably already knows, that she's beautiful, that she smells nice, that she has no idea what she does to me simply by existing.

I don't think I'll ever stop looking for excuses.

If a strand of her hair falls across her face, I'll move it behind her ear.

If her collar is crooked, I'll straighten it.

If she's cold, I'll reach for her hand before she even asks.

Not because those things need to be done.

Because they give me another chance to touch the woman I adore.

I picture dinners with friends where the conversation carries on around us while my hand quietly rests on her thigh beneath the table, absentmindedly tracing gentle circles as if my heart needs constant reassurance that she's real. Maybe she'll rest her legs across my lap, and I'll rub them gently without even realizing I'm doing it.

Not to be seen.

Not to make a statement.

Just because being close to her will always feel better than not being close to her.

I know I'll be the kind of person who stares.

Who catches her eye from across the room and forgets whatever anyone else was saying.

Who smiles without meaning to.

Who looks at her like she's the only thing in focus while the rest of the world fades into the background.

And every time she catches me, I'll probably smile even harder.

I hope she kisses me often enough that I end up wearing her lipstick by accident.

I don't think I'd rush to wipe it away.

I'd probably laugh while she pretends to be annoyed, secretly hoping she leaves another mark before the day is over.

Because I think love leaves traces.

Not just on skin.

On memory.

On instinct.

On the way someone automatically reaches for the other person's hand without noticing they've done it.

Maybe that's what I crave most.

Not dramatic romance.

Not extravagant gestures.

Just a lifetime of little touches.

A hand on my waist as she walks past.

My fingers finding hers in the car.

Her head resting on my shoulder because it's become second nature.

A kiss on the forehead before leaving.

A squeeze of the hand that says I'm here.

The quiet intimacy of never wondering where the other person is because, somehow, we're always reaching for each other.

I want to love someone so deeply that touch becomes our native language.

That every brush of her hand says I missed you.

Every hug says I'm home.

Every glance says Come closer.

And every excuse to touch her becomes another way of telling her what words never could...

That I will spend every day admiring her.

That I will never grow tired of being close to her.

That even after years together, I will still look for one more reason to reach out and remind myself that she is real.

Love is way too immense of a feeling to be kept inside and longing, even by itself, can be overwhelming. But I honestly wouldn't have it in any other way.

One day, you're going to write about your life with your future wife <3

Love has never looked gentle to me.

People speak of peace, of comfort, of finding home in another person. They say love should be quiet, balanced, effortless.

I have never believed them.

If I am not obsessively yearning for her, I do not know if I am truly in love.

Because the love I imagine has never been calm.

It has always arrived as obsession disguised as devotion. It is the ache of waiting for someone I have not met yet. It is looking at an empty space beside me and wondering when it will finally belong to her. It is carrying a place in my heart that feels reserved for someone whose name I do not know yet.

Her absence already exists.

Not because she has left me, but because she has not arrived.

And somehow, I miss her.

I miss the woman who will one day walk into my life and make every year of waiting feel worth it. I miss the conversations we have not had. I miss the sound of her laugh I have never heard. I miss the feeling of her hand in mine, even though I have never held it.

There is a strange kind of loneliness in waiting for someone you believe exists.

And I wait.

God, how I wait.

For the first glance. The first conversation. The first moment where the world becomes quieter because I have finally found the person I was always searching for.

If she ever asked me to come at three in the morning, I would already be putting my shoes on before my mind had the chance to think.

If she needed me, I would be there.

If she asked me to do something difficult, I would try.

If she asked me to kneel, I would.

Not because I was beneath her.

But because there is something beautiful about surrendering every ounce of pride to the woman who has earned my heart. There would be no hesitation, no second thoughts, no feeling of sacrifice.

Only a quiet, instinctive answer.

Yes, ma'am.

Because loving her would never feel like losing myself.

It would feel like finally knowing where I belong.

There is something intoxicating about the idea of belonging to someone so completely that every instinct points toward her. Not because I am forced to, but because every part of me chooses her. Every request would feel less like an obligation and more like a privilege. Making her life easier, happier, and lighter would feel like one of the most meaningful things I could ever do.

Perhaps that sounds like too much.

Perhaps it is.

Perhaps it is beautiful.

Perhaps it is both.

I only know that I have never wanted a love that is ordinary.

When someone else shows interest in me, I imagine my eyes searching for her instead. I imagine her standing beside me, the person I cannot stop looking at even when the world is trying to pull my attention elsewhere. I imagine smiling at her like I am still amazed that someone like her exists.

Because she will be the only person I am truly looking for.

There is an ache in wanting to be close to someone before they even exist in your life.

Not grand gestures.

Just closeness.

Standing behind her with my arms around her waist. Resting my head against her shoulder. Feeling the comfort of her presence against mine. Holding her close in those quiet moments where neither of us needs to speak because being together says enough.

Sometimes I think love is measured in inches.

The distance between two people before one of them reaches out.

Her eyes will be dangerous.

Not because they are beautiful, though I know they will be. but because they will unravel me without trying. They will make me forget what I was saying. They will quiet every thought inside my head. I will look into them and wonder how I spent so many years living without seeing them.

Her voice will become a place I return to.

I will remember the smallest things about it. The way she laughs. The way she says my name. The little changes in her tone that reveal what she is feeling before she even says it.

Some people carry songs with them wherever they go.

I know I will carry her voice.

I will want to know every version of her.

The sleepy woman whose hair refuses to cooperate in the morning. The exhausted one after a long day. The laughing one who forgets anyone is watching. The quiet one who stares out the window when she is lost in thought. The stubborn one. The thoughtful one. The version of her that only appears when she feels completely safe.

I will wake before sunrise just to make her breakfast and coffee.

Not because she asks.

Because loving her will make me want to.

I will watch the morning find her face. I will see her wake up with messy hair, tired eyes, and no attempt to be perfect, and I will still think I am looking at the most beautiful woman in the world.

Maybe especially then.

Because beauty has never lived in perfection.

It has always lived in truth.

Sometimes I wonder if loving someone this deeply is too much.

If devotion should have softer edges.

If yearning should ever rest.

But I have never known how to love halfway.

I do not want a love that simply exists.

I want a love that consumes every empty space.

I want a love where every goodbye creates longing. Where every ordinary day becomes a countdown until I see her again. Where every future I imagine begins with finding her hand before anything else.

Maybe this is obsession.

Maybe it is yearning stretched so tightly across the heart that it becomes impossible to separate from breathing.

Maybe love was never meant to consume someone this completely.

Or maybe some hearts simply refuse to love in moderation.

Mine never has.

When I finally find her, I will love with every fragment of myself. I will memorize her laugh, study the language of her eyes, lose myself in the sound of her voice, and search for her before I search for anyone else.

Because if love does not leave me aching for her before she arrives...

If it does not make me feel like I have been waiting my entire life for one person...

If it does not make her presence feel like the answer to a question I have always carried...

Then perhaps it was never love at all.

For me, love has always been another word for obsession.

And I have never wanted to be cured.