05/05/2025
When my husband and I almost fell apart, there were no loud fights. No cheating. No screaming.
Just a quiet, slow drifting that neither of us meant to let happen.
It was in the every day things, where we simply stopped reaching for each other.
It happened quietly, softly, and in the space between the dishwasher and bedtime.
In the silence between “Can you grab milk tomorrow?” and “Did you switch the laundry?”
One day, we were flirting in the hallway.
The next, we were just, well, passing by each other.
Still loving each other, still committed, but no longer reaching for each other.
That’s the part no one talks about.
Not the drama, but the silent drift.
The season where love becomes routine.
Where you’re no longer holding each other, and somewhere along the way, you start feeling more like roommates than soulmates.
A couple of years ago, that’s where we were.
One night, after weeks of us simply existing together, when my husband asked me if something was wrong, I told him the truth.
“I miss us.” I said.
I didn’t say it to hurt him.
I didn’t want flowers.
I didn’t want fancy date nights.
I just missed the little things.
I missed feeling close to him.
I missed us reaching for one another.
The way he used to touch the small of my back when I cooked. The kisses for no reason.
The soft, quiet moments that used to say, “I still see you.”
After we talked, we climbed into bed. No more words. Just silence, and his hand reaching for mine.
The next morning, I got up, and started my morning routine to make our kids breakfast.
As I stood at the stove, making some eggs, he came up behind me, he wrapped his arms around me, kissed my cheek, and whispered, “I missed us, too. We’re still here.”
In that moment, just like that, something changed.
The spark didn’t come back with a grand gesture. It didn’t come back during a fancy date night.
It came back in the kitchen, while I held a dish towel. With a tired man I’ve loved for years reminding me, we’re still in this.
We weren’t broken. We were just distracted. Tired, busy, and normal.
That moment reminded me of something I’ll never forget..
The spark doesn’t die in one big moment.
It fades in a hundred little ones, and if you’re not careful, you’ll start to believe that distance means your love is gone, but it doesn’t.
I have come to learn that love doesn’t just vanish.
It waits.
It waits to be noticed, to be chosen again, to be reached for in the quiet, and simple, moments.
Sometimes, all it takes to bring it back, is one soft kiss in the kitchen, a hand placed gently on your back, and two people who still believe it’s worth the reach.
❤️
