On finding the kind of love that feels like peace.
“But, You Don’t Know.”
Oh, but I do.
What I do know is that I get to go to bed at night without the anxious swarm of butterflies fluttering around in my belly.
Without wondering what tomorrow will bring. Without replaying conversations in my head, questioning what I said, how I said it, or whether something as insignificant as my very presence might disturb the peace.
Because I’ve finally reached a place in my life where the man I love asks for nothing more than peace in our home.
And I couldn’t be more ready to give that to him.
I know that when I burst into a completely unprovoked dance in the middle of our kitchen, you don’t look at me like I’ve lost my mind.
Well, maybe you do.
But then you start shaking your ass right along with me.
And suddenly, we’re two grown adults acting like complete idiots, laughing at absolutely nothing.
Yet somehow, it’s everything.
I know I love waking up to your good mornings. To sleepy kisses and the comfort of knowing that the first voice I hear belongs to someone who makes me feel loved before the day has even begun.
I know I look forward to you coming home Every Single Day.
Not because I need you to entertain me, rescue me, or fill some empty space in my life.
But because you’re the person I want to tell everything to.
The insignificant little things.
The annoying things.
The ridiculous things that happened throughout my day that probably wouldn’t matter to anyone else.
You listen.
You smile.
You laugh.
You offer encouraging words when I need them and a different perspective when I can’t seem to find my own.
You make the ordinary parts of my life feel worth sharing.
I know I don’t have to hide my feelings.
I don’t have to rehearse conversations before having them. I don’t have to swallow my words, pretend something doesn’t bother me, or calculate the consequences of being honest.
I can tell you when I’m sad.
When I’m frustrated.
When I’m scared.
When I’m having one of those days when absolutely nothing is wrong, but everything feels a little heavier than it should.
And I know that loving you doesn’t require me to shrink myself.
We can disagree without becoming enemies.
We can have difficult conversations without questioning whether the love between us is still there.
And God, what a beautiful thing that is.
I know I love our routines.
Our morning coffee.
Our walks with the dogs.
The birds singing in the background while the rest of the world slowly wakes up.
Afternoon lunches. Quiet evenings. Homemade dinners that sometimes take entirely too long because I insist on adding another clove of garlic.
Or five.
I love the familiar sounds of our home.
The little habits we’ve developed without realizing they were becoming traditions.
The way we’ve built a life out of moments that, from the outside looking in, might seem painfully ordinary.
But they’re not ordinary to me.
They’re the moments I once hoped for.
The kind of moments I didn’t always know were possible for me.
I spent so much of my life mistaking anxiety for butterflies that I almost didn’t recognize peace when it finally arrived.
I know my mind is quieter these days.
Our home is peaceful.
Our love is peaceful.
And for the first time, peace doesn’t feel like something I have to earn.
It simply exists.
In the way we speak to one another.
In the respect we show each other.
In the quiet understanding that we’re on the same side.
Always.
I know I’ve never had this kind of peace in love before.
The kind where someone genuinely wants to care for me, in all the ways I watched my father care for my mother.
And perhaps that’s part of what makes this love so special to me.
Because I know what that kind of devotion looks like.
I’ve seen it.
And now, I get to experience a love that reminds me of it.
I love where you’ve brought laughter into the corners of my world that had grown quiet.
How you’ve shown me that love doesn’t have to hurt to be meaningful.
That passion doesn’t require chaos.
That being comfortable doesn’t mean being complacent.
And that sometimes, the greatest love stories aren’t the ones filled with dramatic twists and devastating heartbreak.
Sometimes they’re the ones where two people simply choose each other.
In the smallest moments.
In the most ordinary ways.
Without fear.
Without uncertainty.
Without having to question whether the love they share is real.
So, yes.
I do know.
And this—what we have—is everything I want.
— E. Lynn Jimenez | The Hollow Quill
E. Lynn Jimenez | The Hollow Quill
Writer, storyteller, and firm believer that love should feel like peace, not chaos. Sharing honest reflections on life, love, and finding beauty in the ordinary moments—because sometimes the simplest things mean everything.
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A heartfelt reflection on finding peaceful love after 40, emotional safety, and the beauty of being loved without fear, chaos, or uncertainty.