Love You a Dozen and Forever More

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They weren’t the loud kind.

No dramatic posts or perfect words.

But there was love, tucked into all the quiet places.

There were long silences,

tension stretched thin between time zones.

Fights that started with sighs

and ended in confusion.

Love that felt more like effort

than ease on some days.

But even in the distance,

he knew she cared.

It was in the way she saved the last bite

of whatever he liked most.

In the way her voice softened only with him, even after long days or longer distances.

In the quiet “text me when you land,”

even when she was upset.

To the “are you hungry or just upset?” talks.

In that look they gave each other

when someone else at dinner said something absurd.

A whole conversation exchange without a single word.

No grand declarations.

Just small, consistent acts of staying.

They grew through versions of each other

that weren’t always easy to love.

The burnout, the breakdowns,

the guilt of not being fully present,

but still, they tried.

Sometimes out of love.

Sometimes out of memory.

Sometimes just because it felt like

they were the only ones

who truly understood the other’s blueprint.

She wasn’t soft with everyone.

But her laugh, the real one,

the one that showed up

mid-sushi, barefaced and tired

only ever belonged to him.

They had seen each other

through tired eyes,

messy mornings,

and growing pains.

And somehow,

they were still each other’s favorite place to land.

They didn’t always meet in the middle.

Sometimes they met at their limits.

Sometimes they didn’t meet at all.

But they stayed awkwardly, imperfectly,

with their whole chests.

And maybe that’s love, too.

To the quiet miracle

of still wanting each other

even when it would’ve been easier not to.

Love you a dozen.

in the ordinary, the difficult, the becoming.

And forever more.

For the one who stayed, even when it was hard to.

Diena Fuji writes from the in-between — between cities, cultures, and versions of herself. She explores identity, intimacy, and detachment with the precision of someone who feels deeply — but doesn’t flinch. Multilingual, multi-city, always a little out of reach