# Let Me Let me be the one who loved you— not in the way of grand gestures, but in the quiet arithmetic of days, in the mathematics of small mercies. Let me be the one who knew the exact shade of your silences, who understood that sometimes a closed door means *come closer*, not *stay away*. Let me be the one who remembers how you took your tea, how you hummed without knowing, how your hands moved when you spoke of things that mattered. Let me be the one who saw the light in you that you'd forgotten— the light you kept hidden like a secret even from yourself. Let me be the one who stayed when the world grew too loud, who learned your language before you could teach it, who loved you in the spaces between your words. Let me be the one who knows that you are not what you think you are— that you are braver, kinder, more beautiful than the mirror tells you. Let me be the one who never asks you to be anything other than this: human, flawed, and enough— more than enough. Let me be the one who holds this truth like a lantern through your darkest hours: that you were always worth loving, always worth staying for, always worth *this*.