How I Love

I don’t love slowly,

I step inside rooms

that might fall apart.

Barefoot on reasons,

I still walk forward,

even when it’s dark.

Questions keep me breathing,

an animal on my chest,

doesn’t know if it should run

or stay where it’s held.

My mind rewinds the silence,

every pause feels loud.

I read between the lines

that maybe were never there,

but still cut deep somehow.

心ごと　愛してしまう

こわれると知っていても

足が震えても　信じたい

ここにいてほしいだけ

I love with fear in my pocket,

of being too much to hold,

of asking without knowing

I’m already asking too close.

I learn your edges quietly,

like a sacred, fragile chart,

but while I’m caring for you

I make myself small.

Not jealous, just wondering,

“What did I miss this time?”

“When did I stop being enough

without saying goodbye?”

心ごと　愛してしまう

こわれると知っていても

選ばれたい　静かな日も

不器用な夜も

I don’t want perfect moments,

I want hands that stay.

Eyes that don’t look away

when I finally say

“I’m scared.”

I want a home, not promises,

presence, not plans.

To be chosen on days

when fear is heavier

than laughter in my hands.

半分の愛は知らない

軽くなんて　なれない

一度壊れても

また信じる　この手で

The way I love trembles,

but it’s real.

A heart on alert,

still open.

Like someone who broke once

and still chooses

to believe again—

with shaking hands.