When I Say ‘I Love You’

When I say I love you
I am not offering a sentence.
I am opening a window
and letting the weather enter my chest.

I say it the way bread says hunger is real,
the way salt admits the sea never leaves it.
I say it with ordinary courage,
hands, breath, a voice that knows it could break.

When I say I love you
time loosens its belt.
The past stops arguing,
the future leans closer to listen.

I do not say it to own you.
I say it to stand beside you,
like a tree learning the language of wind,
rooted, but willing to move.

It means:
your name fits in my mouth.
It means:
the world is larger now, and warmer.

When I say I love you
I am not asking for forever,
I am choosing this moment fully,
and trusting it knows how to grow.