You never came into my life - not in the way others do.

We never had the comfort of shared mornings, quiet conversations, or moments suspended in time.

No text messages filled with laughter. No arms to fall into when the world became too much.

You were never a voice in my ear or a hand in mine.

And yet? you lived in the deepest part of me.

Still, I believed in you.

I believed in your presence long before it had a name.

In your strength, even when I'd only caught glimpses of it from afar.

I believed in your dreams, the ones you held close to your chest, and the silent battles you fought in the dark.

I didn't need to know the whole story to recognize something rare in you - a quiet brilliance, a rare grace.

Without ever truly meeting you, I rooted for you.

I hoped for your joy with a tenderness that surprised even me.

You didn't need to be mine for me to want the world to be kind to you.

You didn't need to know me for me to care.

There's something both painful and beautiful about that kind of belief.

It asks for nothing.

No applause. No reciprocation. No ending.

It simply exists - like breath, like prayer, like the quietest kind of love.

Unseen. Undemanding.

But unwavering.

And so, though you never stepped into my life in the way I imagined or longed for,

you were always here -

in the silent prayers I whispered to the sky,

in the unspoken wishes I made with eyes closed tight,

in every moment I paused and thought, "Please, let them be okay."

I asked the universe to protect you.

To guide your path when it felt unsteady.

To surround you with a love so complete that you'd never doubt your worth.

To let success meet you where you are and follow you wherever you go.

You may never know the depth of what I felt,

and maybe that's how it was meant to be.

Because some people aren't written into our lives to stay -

they're written into our souls to remind us what it means to love without limits.

And you?

You've been in mine all along.