I didn’t tell you then, but I fell in love with you that day, 01/15/22.

Our first trip.
Buffalo.

It was cold, the kind of cold that paints your breath in the air
and makes you press closer,
not just for warmth,
but because it feels right.

We danced in the snow.
No music.
Just the sound of our laughter,
your hands on mine,
the way the world slowed down
like it was watching us fall in love.

And maybe it was.

We walked through the frost-covered streets,
our cheeks red, noses numb,
but our hearts so warm
I swear I didn’t feel the chill.
Not really.
Not when I had you.

We snacked like little kids
on whatever we could find,
giggles in convenience stores,
crumbs on sheets,
arms tangled around each other
like home wasn’t a place,
but a person.

And somewhere between the snow, the quiet, and the way you looked at me
like I was made of something soft and sacred,
I knew.

I was in love with you.
Not in a dramatic, sudden way.
But in the kind of way that creeps up softly,
until it’s just… there.
In everything.
Undeniable.
Undeniably you.

You were joy.
You were stillness.
You were laughter under heavy coats and gentle kisses beneath grey skies.

Buffalo didn’t just give us memories.
It gave me clarity.

That I had already chosen you.
And that I never wanted to choose anyone else.

P.S. You also taught me how to drive on our way there.