She’ll never know how much I care for her, how deeply the thought of her is woven into every moment of my day. She moves through life unaware, her laughter ringing like a melody only I can hear, her presence filling spaces she doesn’t even realize she brightens.

She’ll never know how her smallest gestures—her smile, her glance, the way she tucks her hair behind her ear—can undo me completely. She carries the weight of the world so gracefully, never noticing how I watch her in quiet awe, wishing I could lighten her load.

She’ll never know how much I notice, how much I hold in my heart. The way she dreams aloud when she’s unguarded, the kindness in her voice, even the moments she doubts herself. She’ll never know that to me, she’s more than enough, always enough, in ways I could never fully explain.

She’ll never know how much I wish she could see herself through my eyes—how fiercely she’s loved, how endlessly she’s cherished. But I carry it anyway, silently, like a prayer whispered to the stars. She’ll never know. And maybe that’s okay, because loving her, even in silence, is enough.