There are moments in life when words feel too small, too fragile, to carry the depth of what we truly feel. Love, especially, has this strange way of defying language. It lives in the spaces where words fall short, in the pauses between conversations, and in the quiet understanding shared between two people.

I often think, if I could learn a language that perfectly expresses why I love you or how much I love you, would I still love you the same way? Because the moment I try to define it, I begin to confine it. And love, in its truest sense, was never meant to be contained.

To say why I love you feels like reducing something vast into something explainable. It would be like trying to capture the entire sky in a jar just to show you its color. The reasons I love you may begin somewhere in your kindness, your laughter, your quiet strength but they have no end. They shift, evolve, and expand with every shared silence, every unspoken understanding, every ordinary moment that somehow feels extraordinary because you’re in it.

And how much I love you, that’s even harder. Because “how much” assumes there’s a measure, a boundary, or a comparison. But love, real love, doesn’t live in quantities. It lives in constancy. It doesn’t rise and fall with the tide of circumstances; it just is. It’s in the way my thoughts drift toward you without intention. It’s in the calm I find just knowing you exist in my world.

Maybe that’s why I believe that learning a language to express my love would never do it justice. Languages are built on precision, ‘nouns’, ‘verbs’, ‘adjectives’. But love is built on feelings — the abstract, the immeasurable, the undefined. You can translate a sentence, but you can’t translate a heartbeat.

So instead, I’d rather let my silence speak. Let my actions carry what my words cannot. Let my presence say what no language can frame. Because sometimes, the purest form of love isn’t something you say. It’s something you simply are.

Love,

KC