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.