Take My Hand, Take My Whole Life Too
Oleh: Frida N.
There are people who enter our lives like storms — sudden, loud, unforgettable. They rearrange everything overnight, leaving behind wreckage and wonder all at once.
And then there are people who arrive like evening light. Quietly. So quietly, in fact, that you do not notice the sky changing colors until everything around you has already softened.
You were that kind of person.
I still can’t point to the exact moment it began. There was no confession, no date carved into memory like something sacred. Whatever this is between us grew slowly, almost invisibly, like the tide rising in the middle of the night while the rest of the world sleeps unaware.
Maybe it started with the way you listened. Or the way you remembered little things I mentioned once and forgot about myself soon after. Or maybe it was simply the strange peace that followed me whenever I was near you.
I used to think the idea of a person feeling like home was just something people wrote in novels because it sounded beautiful. Home, to me, had always been temporary. A thing that could disappear. Doors close. People leave. Seasons change. Even the safest places eventually learn how to become unfamiliar. So, I grew up believing that attachment should always come with caution. That loving someone too deeply was like leaving your windows open before a storm.
But then there was you.
And somehow, without trying, you changed the meaning of things I had spent years convincing myself I understood. Because now I think maybe home is not a place at all. Maybe it is just the feeling of someone holding your hand while the world stops asking so much from you for a little while. There are nights when I think about you longer than I should.
Sometimes people leave after promising they would stay. Sometimes hearts change quietly. Sometimes we build entire homes inside other people only to discover we were temporary visitors all along.
And even knowing all of this, I still keep moving closer to you. Is that not strange?
Human beings are odd that way.
We know the ocean can drown us, and we still walk toward it because sometimes the sea also teaches us peace.
Maybe love is not made of grand gestures after all. Maybe it is simply a series of quiet choices made over and over again. Choosing to stay. Choosing to listen. Choosing softness when it would be easier to become distant. Choosing to hold someone a little tighter when the world has not been kind to them lately.
I want to become a place you can return to.
Life is really just one long journey toward places we do not fully understand, then perhaps love is simply choosing who we want beside us while we walk through the uncertainty. And that choice will always carry fear.
So, if I ever look at you too quietly, maybe it is because I am trying to understand how someone can become so important without making any noise at all. How someone can step so deeply into another person’s life that the future itself begins to feel different.
And if I hold your hand a little longer than necessary, maybe it is because some hidden part of me hasalready whispered the truth long before I was ready to say it aloud
“If I am going to give my whole life to someone someday, I do not think I would mind if it were
you.”