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@jayda_.jayy: 😂😂#surinamguyane🇸🇷🇬🇫 #fyppp #relatable #funnyvideos #trending

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Wednesday 04 November 2026 15:35:55 GMT
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Everyone says they would die for the person they love. But I think I’m more interested in whether they’re willing to do the hard stuff while that person is still sitting beside them. Because love has never asked me to take a bullet. It has asked me to stay. To have conversations I would rather avoid. To apologize when my pride had a really convincing argument. To stay awake a little longer because someone I love couldn’t quiet their mind. To drive a little farther. Listen a little longer. Put something of mine aside. Notice the little things before they become big things. To choose us on the days when me would have been easier. And sometimes, the hard stuff is harder than that. Sometimes love is sitting beside someone whose world has just shattered and knowing there is absolutely nothing you can do to put it back together. It is looking at them while they grieve and resisting the urge to make their pain smaller just because you cannot stand to watch them carry it. It is staying there anyway. Sometimes love is seeing someone four days postpartum, half naked on the floor, hooked up to a machine and feeling more animal than human— exhausted, hurting, overwhelmed, barely recognizable even to herself— and loving her without needing her to be any easier to love. Maybe especially then. Because there are versions of us that are not pretty. There are versions that are grieving, angry, scared, exhausted, impatient and unreasonable. Versions with nothing left to give. And I think there is something sacred about being known in those moments and not having to perform your way back into being worthy of tenderness. Maybe that is what it means to really know someone. To know when they need you to say something and when words are the last thing they need. To know the facial expression that says, I know. I’m here. You don’t have to explain. To learn the language of a person so well that eventually some of the most important conversations don’t require words at all. I think we romanticize love into huge, cinematic moments— flowers, grand gestures, speeches, gifts, some extraordinary sacrifice that proves, once and for all, how much someone means to us. But most of love doesn’t happen there. It happens in ordinary rooms on ordinary days, and sometimes on the worst days of someone’s life. It happens when you are tired too, when you are hurting too, when leaving the room would be easier. It is remembering what matters to them even when it doesn’t matter to you. It is changing something not because you were forced to, but because you realized it kept hurting the person you couldn’t stand to hurt. It is putting the phone down. Making the drive. Having the conversation. Sitting in the silence. It is making room, again and again, because loving someone you know loves you has become more important than always choosing what is easiest. I don’t think real love is made from one extraordinary sacrifice. I think it is built from thousands of ordinary ones. Tiny decisions that don’t seem like much when you’re making them— until years later, when you look around at the life you have built together and realize they were never really little at all. Every inconvenience. Every hard conversation. Every time one of you sat beside the other when there was nothing to fix. Another way of saying, you matter more than my comfort in this moment. Us matters more than what I want in this moment. And maybe that is what I’ve been looking for all along. Maybe it’s what we’re all looking for. Not someone who tells me they would die for me. Someone who chooses, in all those small and ordinary ways, to live with me every single day. To see me. To know me. To take care of me. And to let me take care of them, too. #poemtok #poetrytiktok #Love #poem #poetrycommunity
Everyone says they would die for the person they love. But I think I’m more interested in whether they’re willing to do the hard stuff while that person is still sitting beside them. Because love has never asked me to take a bullet. It has asked me to stay. To have conversations I would rather avoid. To apologize when my pride had a really convincing argument. To stay awake a little longer because someone I love couldn’t quiet their mind. To drive a little farther. Listen a little longer. Put something of mine aside. Notice the little things before they become big things. To choose us on the days when me would have been easier. And sometimes, the hard stuff is harder than that. Sometimes love is sitting beside someone whose world has just shattered and knowing there is absolutely nothing you can do to put it back together. It is looking at them while they grieve and resisting the urge to make their pain smaller just because you cannot stand to watch them carry it. It is staying there anyway. Sometimes love is seeing someone four days postpartum, half naked on the floor, hooked up to a machine and feeling more animal than human— exhausted, hurting, overwhelmed, barely recognizable even to herself— and loving her without needing her to be any easier to love. Maybe especially then. Because there are versions of us that are not pretty. There are versions that are grieving, angry, scared, exhausted, impatient and unreasonable. Versions with nothing left to give. And I think there is something sacred about being known in those moments and not having to perform your way back into being worthy of tenderness. Maybe that is what it means to really know someone. To know when they need you to say something and when words are the last thing they need. To know the facial expression that says, I know. I’m here. You don’t have to explain. To learn the language of a person so well that eventually some of the most important conversations don’t require words at all. I think we romanticize love into huge, cinematic moments— flowers, grand gestures, speeches, gifts, some extraordinary sacrifice that proves, once and for all, how much someone means to us. But most of love doesn’t happen there. It happens in ordinary rooms on ordinary days, and sometimes on the worst days of someone’s life. It happens when you are tired too, when you are hurting too, when leaving the room would be easier. It is remembering what matters to them even when it doesn’t matter to you. It is changing something not because you were forced to, but because you realized it kept hurting the person you couldn’t stand to hurt. It is putting the phone down. Making the drive. Having the conversation. Sitting in the silence. It is making room, again and again, because loving someone you know loves you has become more important than always choosing what is easiest. I don’t think real love is made from one extraordinary sacrifice. I think it is built from thousands of ordinary ones. Tiny decisions that don’t seem like much when you’re making them— until years later, when you look around at the life you have built together and realize they were never really little at all. Every inconvenience. Every hard conversation. Every time one of you sat beside the other when there was nothing to fix. Another way of saying, you matter more than my comfort in this moment. Us matters more than what I want in this moment. And maybe that is what I’ve been looking for all along. Maybe it’s what we’re all looking for. Not someone who tells me they would die for me. Someone who chooses, in all those small and ordinary ways, to live with me every single day. To see me. To know me. To take care of me. And to let me take care of them, too. #poemtok #poetrytiktok #Love #poem #poetrycommunity

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