You’re the Symphony I’m Willing to Learn How to Decode

the secret symphony of love.

There is something undeniably profound in the way you move through life, as if every step is a note in a hidden melody, a cadence only some dare to hear. You are not a simple song, easily understood, but a symphony—layered, intricate, and vast. Each breath, every glance, carries with it a subtle rhythm, a mystery begging to be uncovered. And I, willingly, stand here, an eager student of your harmonies.

I have spent countless hours lingering in the pauses between your words, marveling at the silent beats that reveal so much more than sound. Your laughter, though light and fleeting, echoes like the high notes of a violin—vulnerable yet resilient. The way your eyes cloud over when you are lost in thought, a reflection of the deeper undertones, makes me wonder about the movements of your heart I haven’t yet heard.

Decoding you is not a task, but a desire—an art. To unravel the story behind the crescendos of your excitement, to understand the minor chords of your sadness, is to get closer to your soul’s essence. With each interaction, I am learning the unique tempo of your being. You are not a melody meant for the background; you demand focus, attention, and, most of all, patience.

And I am ready to listen.

• To trace the way your emotions swell and recede like waves against a shore is to witness something both raw and breathtaking. I am drawn to the dissonances, the moments where you falter, for they are the places where your beauty shines most clearly. The parts of you that remain unsaid, like a song unfinished, leave room for discovery, for wonder.

If you wanna love me, try to get inside my brain.

There’s a delicate invitation in your existence. The walls you've built, though they may seem high, aren’t impenetrable. I can see the cracks where light leaks through, and it’s in those moments I feel the unspoken plea for understanding. Loving you isn't about wrapping my arms around your heart alone—it’s about stepping into the intricate maze of your mind, navigating the fears, doubts, and dreams that swirl within.

I know it’s not a simple ask. You are complex, and you don’t offer all of yourself easily. If I truly want to love you, if I want to be part of your world, I know I need to understand you from the inside out. The layers that protect you, they are not walls of dismissal, but shields of caution. And they make sense. So I stand here, patient, knowing that if you want to, only if you want to, I will step into that labyrinth and help you make sense of it all.

If you want to, you can go ahead and fix my head.

This is the vulnerability we often dance around—the idea of being broken, or at least feeling broken, and trusting someone enough to allow them to help piece us back together. I see the moments when your eyes drift, the silence that fills the space between our words, and I know that you're carrying things—thoughts, feelings, hurts—that you don’t always know how to handle. Maybe it feels like too much to ask for help, or maybe it feels like too much to let anyone see those fragile parts of you.

But if you wanted to, I would be here. I would be willing to stand by your side, even in the messiest parts of your mind. There’s no rush, no pressure to be whole when you’re not. I wouldn’t try to change you or mold you into something easier to love. I would only listen, support, and try to understand. Love isn’t about perfection; it’s about presence, about being there when it feels like no one else could possibly understand. If you wanted to, I would help, only if you wanted me to.

If you try to.

Love, real love, isn’t effortless. It requires a level of vulnerability that can feel overwhelming. If you try to open up, I’ll try to understand. If you try to show me the pieces of yourself you keep hidden, I’ll hold them with care, knowing how fragile they might be. If you try to let me in, I’ll be patient, never forcing, only waiting. Because love should never be about pushing someone beyond their limits, but about inviting them to take small steps forward—together.

We are both works in progress, you and I. Each with our own symphonies to decode, our own minds to understand. But in this, we are not alone. If we are willing to try, to really try, maybe we can help each other navigate the noise, the chaos, and the dissonance that sometimes feels too much to bear alone.

There’s beauty in the struggle, in the effort to try, to understand. And as much as I want to learn your melody, I hope you might one day want to learn mine. We are both symphonies—unpredictable, beautiful, sometimes discordant. But that’s what makes this worth it. That’s what makes the music so moving.

If you want to, only if you want to.

Let’s figure out this symphony together. Let’s write it, note by note, silence by silence, as we learn how to love—not just the idea of each other but the real, raw, imperfect symphonies we both are.