#acecodedlove

—the one worth every ache

You were worth every ache, every pain, every tear.

If nothing else, I’ve learned this truth: you are the kind of woman worth fighting for.

Not scraps. Not placeholders. No. You were the summit, the goal, the flame that made the climb worth bleeding for.

It was sweat burning in my eyes, patience grinding down my teeth, pruning what withered until something true finally grew.

I walked roads that bent and broke me— blisters split open, knees raw with gravel— not because they were easy, not because you asked me to, but because I needed to prove I could be the man worthy to stand beside you.

You weren’t a sketch on a napkin— you were the canvas I ruined my hands to finish. Fingers cramped, knuckles split, every stroke proof of a man stubborn enough to stay.

Every revision cut me open, but also carved me closer to the man you deserved.

You were never a backup, never a detour. You were the destination.

My salvation. My sanctuary. The home I longed for— always just out of reach, until now.

No longer a dream. Soon I will hold you for real.

And when I do, my heart will whisper what it carried through every ache:

I do not want to hear you say “I love you.”

Some words lose their shape after passing from mouth to mouth.

I can no longer trust that sound.

Spoken too quickly. As if they cost nothing to say.

I want to feel it instead.

I want to know it instinctively.

I want to hold you close, and watch your body forget its fear.

I want to feel you lean into me without hesitation.

I want you to look into my eyes and say instead:

“I trust you.” “This is where I rest.” “This is home.”

I want to witness the moment your shoulders finally loosen, like they no longer need to carry vigilance.

To see your jaw soften. Your hands uncurl.

Unbuckling your armor with trembling hands, metal striking the floor one piece at a time.

Just long enough to stop bracing against the world.

Just long enough for your breathing to stop sounding like survival.

Outside, the storm can keep raging.

Life can keep sharpening its knives against us again and again.

But here—

here, for a moment—

we do not have to survive anything.

We can simply rest.

And maybe maybe this is how I say:

I caught a glimpse— of something radiant resting within its shell.

And in that moment, I understood something sacred:

To force it open would not reveal its beauty. only risk fracturing what keeps it whole.

For the shell is not a prison. It is protection: Intentional, Earned, Beautiful in its own right.

Its curves catch the light. Its surface carries the quiet marks of endurance, of choosing safety over spectacle.

I do not press. I do not test the strength of something precious just to satisfy my wonder.

Instead— I cherish the glimpses when they are offered. Brief flashes of brilliance felt as grace, not triumph.

And when it chooses silence, when even its glow is hidden—

I stay.

Let me simply remain close. Let me sit beside this beauty, resting in its presence when sight is denied.

For I have never known anything that radiated like this: Not loudly. Not all at once. But steadily.

And if preserving it cost patience— if devotion means waiting an eternity for only moments of light—

then I will wait. Gladly.

-Part I: Recognition

I wandered— shoulders tight, breath shallow— learning to move through the world in armor, not skin.

Always second-guessing, choosing words as if stepping through glass.

Then one day my spirit whispered: Look. I paused—looked up— as if even the air held its breath.

The world quieted— heartbeat, breath— everything stilled.

And I saw something in her, as if my spirit remembered her name in a language I’d forgotten.

Not lust, not desire— just a quiet gravity, a soul I already knew.

Calm— like breath settling after a storm.

Alignment— like bones remembering where they belong.

Safety— like warmth returning to the palms.

I didn’t need years, or even words.

It was a truth felt first in the skin— a knowing that pulsed before the mind could understand.

-Part II: Transformation

She became a catalyst. Through her presence, my edges dissolved... and something... unnamable took root.

Her nearness rewrote my very pulse— she turned ache into alchemy.

Her silence spoke in color; words began to bloom uninvited, and their ink began to dream in my veins.

No matter the depth of darkness, she painted galaxies beneath my ribs. My eyes opened— words now spoke in the language of stars.

How— how did you do this to me with barely whispers, your softest smile...

I’ve become more spirit than body, and through you I've ascended.

— Divinity in Mortal Flesh

I hate that beauty is so often shackled to the body alone— as if the soul were not composed of both flesh and spirit, as if radiance could be measured in symmetry of features instead of the light one carries.

Yes, my dear, you are fair. Your features frame themselves in natural grace— you are beautiful, in the physical sense.

But your spirit… that quiet blaze in you— your presence, far surpasses what I thought possible for mortal flesh.

There were days I had to turn away, not to be blinded by your brilliance.

Other days, when dark thoughts threatened to consume me, when I longed for reprieve… I would find excuses to wander near you. One glance was enough to steady my breath, like cool water after fire.

You never knew how often my soul sought refuge… how often I stole just a moment, just a spark of your spirit—

to hold mine together, to keep it from breaking. When my chest locked with old panic, one glimpse of you loosened it— like ribs cracking open for breath.

Your presence—calm incarnate, sending peace into my marrow. Your smile… it hit me; like sunlight through stained glass— sharp, colored, impossible to ignore.

Even now, the memory of your smile, your laugh, your simplest, ordinary radiance is enough to breathe a second wind into me.

So what else can I say? How else can I explain the way my soul reacts to you?