You didn’t say my name,
But somehow, it felt like you were speaking to the version of me I’m still becoming —
The girl with unfinished dreams and tired eyes,
Chasing something bigger than herself.
And instead of reaching to pull me into your world,
You simply waited at the edge of mine.
Not rushing.
Not interrupting.
Just… there.
Most wouldn’t notice the rhythm I walk in.
Most wouldn’t slow down enough to match it.
But you did.
You didn’t reach for “now” —
You considered the maybe.
And that’s not just sweet.
That’s rare.
They say life moves in seasons,
And maybe that’s why you remind me so much of autumn —
gentle, grounding, firm.
You are manly in a way that feels natural, not forced, a quiet strength like the crisp autumn air that steadies everything in its path.
And even if you never say it louder,
Even if you never fully spell it out,
I’ll always remember the way it felt to be gently considered,
In a world that so often rushes love.
And autumn, you know, has another name.
One that sounds a lot like yours.
Perhaps it wasn’t just fall in the air — perhaps it was you.
— Red
Writings of Red 