Oh, To Be Loved By….
- Thread starter Wednesday
- Start date
Irena
Newbie
Thank you so muchWelcome to Introvert club Irena
Ah nice words find an introvert guy may ur wishes comes tru
A heart-touching poem. The silent love of introverts is truly a blessing.Oh, to be loved by an introvert..
It doesn’t arrive loudly.
It doesn’t announce itself.
It grows in the silence, where words aren’t required to feel understood.
To be loved by an introvert is to be observed gently.
They notice the pauses in your sentences,
the way your smile fades when you’re tired,
the thoughts you swallow before they reach your lips.
They won’t chase the world for you,
but they will sit beside you while the world feels heavy.
And somehow, that is enough.
Their love speaks in actions,
remembering what comforts you,
protecting your peace without being asked,
holding space when you don’t have the strength to speak.
They carry entire oceans inside them,
yet show only ripples.
They love deeply, carefully,
because they know how fragile hearts can be
especially their own.
When an introvert loves you,
they let you into a place few ever see.
Their quiet becomes yours.
Their solitude makes room for you.
They may struggle to express feelings out loud,
but they write them into existence.
They feel intensely,
hide it skillfully,
and give it only to those who feel safe.
Oh, to be loved by an introvert…
is to be chosen slowly, deliberately, permanently.
It’s not a temporary affection.
It’s a lifelong presence.
And if you are loved that way,
treat it gently.
Because introvert love doesn’t fade loudly
it stays,
even when unspoken.
Awesome Intelligence™
Wednesday
Favoured Frenzy
Soft hearts loving softly is a rare blessing
Wednesday
Favoured Frenzy
Oh, to be loved by an artist…
Not in a way that demands attention,
but in a way that lingers.
Not in a way that demands attention,
but in a way that lingers.
An artist doesn’t rush love.
They study it.
They notice the way your voice lowers when you’re tired,
the way your laughter changes depending on who you’re with,
the way you go quiet when something hurts too much to explain.
To be loved by an artist is to be observed gently,
never judged.
They don’t interrupt your silences
they sit inside them with you.
They see beauty where others see flaws.
Your overthinking isn’t “too much” to them;
it’s layers.
Your emotional walls aren’t coldness;
they’re history.
Your softness isn’t weakness;
it’s depth.
An artist loves your broken parts
not because they are broken,
but because they tell a story of survival.
They won’t ask you to be smaller.
They won’t ask you to be easier.
They’ll ask, quietly,
“May I understand you?”
To be loved by an artist means being remembered in absence.
A song will suddenly carry your name.
A line in a poem will feel like you.
A random moment in the day will pause
just because something reminded them of you.
Their love is not loud reassurance.
It’s consistency.
It’s staying.
It’s choosing you even on days when loving you requires patience.
Sometimes they will hurt you
not out of cruelty,
but because artists feel deeply,
and depth comes with storms.
But even then,
they’ll return with honesty,
with accountability,
with hands that reach for yours instead of running away.
An artist doesn’t love the version of you that performs.
They love the version of you that exists
when no one is watching.
Oh, to be loved by an artist….
is to be held in thought,
etched into memory,
kept alive in quiet moments.
It is a love that may not shout,
but it never disappears.
And maybe that’s the rarest love of all
the one that sees everything
and stays anyway.
They study it.
They notice the way your voice lowers when you’re tired,
the way your laughter changes depending on who you’re with,
the way you go quiet when something hurts too much to explain.
To be loved by an artist is to be observed gently,
never judged.
They don’t interrupt your silences
they sit inside them with you.
They see beauty where others see flaws.
Your overthinking isn’t “too much” to them;
it’s layers.
Your emotional walls aren’t coldness;
they’re history.
Your softness isn’t weakness;
it’s depth.
An artist loves your broken parts
not because they are broken,
but because they tell a story of survival.
They won’t ask you to be smaller.
They won’t ask you to be easier.
They’ll ask, quietly,
“May I understand you?”
To be loved by an artist means being remembered in absence.
A song will suddenly carry your name.
A line in a poem will feel like you.
A random moment in the day will pause
just because something reminded them of you.
Their love is not loud reassurance.
It’s consistency.
It’s staying.
It’s choosing you even on days when loving you requires patience.
Sometimes they will hurt you
not out of cruelty,
but because artists feel deeply,
and depth comes with storms.
But even then,
they’ll return with honesty,
with accountability,
with hands that reach for yours instead of running away.
An artist doesn’t love the version of you that performs.
They love the version of you that exists
when no one is watching.
Oh, to be loved by an artist….
is to be held in thought,
etched into memory,
kept alive in quiet moments.
It is a love that may not shout,
but it never disappears.
And maybe that’s the rarest love of all
the one that sees everything
and stays anyway.
Even when they are not present artist always know how to feel and care and show silentlyOh, to be loved by an artist…
Not in a way that demands attention,
but in a way that lingers.
An artist doesn’t rush love.
They study it.
They notice the way your voice lowers when you’re tired,
the way your laughter changes depending on who you’re with,
the way you go quiet when something hurts too much to explain.
To be loved by an artist is to be observed gently,
never judged.
They don’t interrupt your silences
they sit inside them with you.
They see beauty where others see flaws.
Your overthinking isn’t “too much” to them;
it’s layers.
Your emotional walls aren’t coldness;
they’re history.
Your softness isn’t weakness;
it’s depth.
An artist loves your broken parts
not because they are broken,
but because they tell a story of survival.
They won’t ask you to be smaller.
They won’t ask you to be easier.
They’ll ask, quietly,
“May I understand you?”
To be loved by an artist means being remembered in absence.
A song will suddenly carry your name.
A line in a poem will feel like you.
A random moment in the day will pause
just because something reminded them of you.
Their love is not loud reassurance.
It’s consistency.
It’s staying.
It’s choosing you even on days when loving you requires patience.
Sometimes they will hurt you
not out of cruelty,
but because artists feel deeply,
and depth comes with storms.
But even then,
they’ll return with honesty,
with accountability,
with hands that reach for yours instead of running away.
An artist doesn’t love the version of you that performs.
They love the version of you that exists
when no one is watching.
Oh, to be loved by an artist….
is to be held in thought,
etched into memory,
kept alive in quiet moments.
It is a love that may not shout,
but it never disappears.
And maybe that’s the rarest love of all
the one that sees everything
and stays anyway.
.It never disappears it will be always searching and looking for u
in calm way
Wednesday
Favoured Frenzy
When someone truly cares, absence doesn’t erase it. It becomes quieter, softer… yet it keeps searching, holding you gently in thought and feelingEven when they are not present artist always know how to feel and care and show silently
It never disappears it will be always searching and looking for u
Well hold itWhen someone truly cares, absence doesn’t erase it. It becomes quieter, softer… yet it keeps searching, holding you gently in thought and feeling
with u tightly and softly a whole different kind of feelings will be present forever