After my stroke, everything changed. My body struggled, my speech slipped away, and sometimes… so did my calm. Aphasia took over like an invisible weight. Words that once came so naturally now sat just out of reach. I found myself screaming at times—not out of anger, but from frustration, confusion, and pain. Sometimes, even I didn’t know why.

But there was one constant.

One person who stayed through it all.

Quietly. Faithfully. Without needing thanks or recognition.

My partner.

To love someone who’s hurting—who’s no longer the same—is not easy.

To love someone who yells without reason, or drifts into silence, is something else entirely.

But that’s exactly what he did.

He saw me when I couldn’t see myself.

He sat with me when I was unbearable.

He held space for me when all I could do was fall apart.

That kind of love doesn’t come with grand declarations. It shows up in small, everyday acts—meals prepared with care, deep breaths taken in the middle of my storms, and a steady hand holding mine while I tried to find the right words.

I used to believe love was about beautiful moments. Now I know—real love is what’s left when everything else is stripped away.

It’s not perfect. It’s not always soft. But it’s honest. And it’s strong.

Because it’s only from the heart that you can touch the sky.

And it’s only through love like this—quiet, unwavering, patient—that I’ve been able to heal, to grow, and to keep going.

Every day, I try to be better.

Every day, I am reminded that I’m already enough—because someone chose to stay, even when it was hard.

It’s a thank you.

To the one who never gave up on me, even when I was at my worst.

To the one who saw through the noise, and chose to love the silence.