all the ways we love
Eros
She saw him across the train—dark hair, crooked smile, the kind that made her stomach flip like she’d skipped a step. He caught her staring. No words. Just a grin that said, I know. By the time the doors opened, she’d forgotten her stop. They walked off together anyway. No plan. Just heat, like the air had turned to honey.
Philia
They’d been roommates since college. One night she showed up crying; he didn’t ask why—just put on her favorite movie, handed her a mug of tea, and sat. No “talk to me,” no fixes. Just silence that said, I’m here. Years later, he moved cities. She still texts him at two a.m. when the world feels too big. He always answers.
Agape
The nurse stayed late. She wasn’t supposed to. But the old man kept asking for his wife—who’d died two winters ago. She sat, held his hand, pretended to listen. When he slept, she wiped his forehead, whispered, “You’re safe.” Not because she had to. Because some kindness doesn’t need a reason.
Storge
Her dad never said “I love you.” But every Sunday he’d make eggs—too salty, always burnt—and leave them on her plate while she slept in. She moved out, came back years later with her own kid. He still made them. Same mess. Same silence. She hugged him once—he stiffened, then patted her back.
Philautia
She stood in front of the mirror, scars from last year still pink under the light. No makeup. No filter. Just her—tired, soft, alive. She traced one line, smiled. “Hey,” she said out loud. “You’re doing okay.” Not perfect. Not loud. Just true. And for once, she believed it.
Ludus
He flirted like it was a game—winking over coffee, stealing her fries, texting dumb memes at midnight. She played back: fake jealousy, silly nicknames, a kiss that tasted like laughter. No promises. No “forever.” Just two people teasing the edge of something real—and liking it.
