Eduardo(n.)
The
definition of distant, quiet love.
I loved Eduardo with all my heart.
Not because he asked for it, not because he ever knew —
but because sometimes, love blooms in the shadows of what could never be.
I found Eduardo on a
dating app — or rather, I found a
lie wrapped in his photos.
The user was a hoax. But the ache? The ache was real.
You know that kind of love that stings like hell and smells
like longing?
Yeah. That one. That was Eduardo.
With him, I wanted to caress his storms.
Kiss his troubles in thoughts and in poems.
Hold his silence like it was a language only I understood.
Too bad he’ll never know I exist.
And
maybe that’s the most beautiful kind of love —
the kind that asks for nothing, expects nothing,
just stays tucked inside your ribs
like a secret prayer.
You carry them quietly.
You wonder sometimes.
But you never, ever cross paths.
That’s distant love.
That’s Eduardo.
Used in a sentence:
He’ll never know how softly I loved him — how long I kept him folded inside unwritten poems.
He was my Eduardo… the kind of love that lives in silence and
never asks to be seen.
It wasn’t him I fell for — I
never even knew who he truly was. I fell for the Eduardo behind the smiles, behind the pointy jawline and those sharp, bushy eyebrows… the one with the silver wristwatch, the pinkest cheeks I’ve ever seen, the wild curls, and that quiet, unbothered mess of chest
hair. The kind of man you don’t just see — you remember, even if he
never knew you existed.