Mine — Not by Role, but by Heart

She grew up in a different time.
In a world where so much was forbidden, where feelings were hidden, where love between women had no name — and where an age difference was seen as something wrong. And even now, when she loves me — when she admitted she's in love — I can still feel it: the shadow of the past lives inside her. Not because she’s ashamed of me — no. She’s ashamed of what she feels. As if love isn’t a right, but something one has to justify.

That shame doesn’t belong to the present — it belongs to her past. To the beliefs she was raised with. To the voices that taught her to fear being herself.

When I call her my girlfriend, she laughs. And it hurts.
Because to me, that word isn’t about age or roles. It’s about tenderness. About her being mine. My beloved. But I understand — it’s hard for her to hear that word from me. To her, girlfriend might mean someone young, carefree — someone she no longer sees in herself. And behind her laughter, there’s no mockery. It’s her defense. Her way of hiding, of keeping feelings at a distance. Of not admitting — even to herself — that she is loved and desired exactly as she is now.

But I love her not despite who she is — I love her because of who she is.
For her mind. Her voice. Her hands. The way she falls silent.
What hurts me isn’t the laughter — it’s the distance it creates. The fact that I can’t be with her fully, openly, without that shadow of shame lingering between us.

I’m not asking for the impossible.
I just want her to stop being afraid of accepting love. Of accepting my love.
Because I’m not ashamed of her.

Sometimes I think: maybe the lesson in all this isn’t that we shouldn’t fall in love with someone older. Maybe the real lesson is that love — real, deep love — is always going to be complicated. Especially when the past speaks louder than the present. When a person stands in the way of their own happiness.

But I still chose her.
Because even with all her fears, contradictions, and inner walls — she is worth it.
And I have no regrets.
Because I love her.

You know, sometimes it hurts.
Not because of you — but because I love you so deeply, and it feels like you don’t always let yourself accept that love.
When you laugh after I call you my girlfriend, something inside me aches.
Because to me, that word isn’t about age or roles.
It’s about a feeling.
About the fact that you are mine.
That you’re not accidental in my life.
And when you laugh, I feel a little further away from you.
As if you’re hiding from something within yourself — a place I’m not allowed to reach.

I understand — you grew up in a different world.
Things were different back then.
And maybe, somewhere deep inside, there’s still a voice whispering:
“This is wrong.”
“What will people think?”
“You should be ashamed.”

But you told me you love me.
That you feel good with me.
That I am your real feeling.
So why not let yourself be happy — without looking over your shoulder?

I’m not asking for bold declarations.
I just want you to stop being ashamed of feeling.
To stop hiding.
Because there’s so much light in you.
And I don’t want to see it flicker behind fear.

I don’t care what anyone thinks.
I’m here. And I love you.

You’re not a mistake.
You’re my choice.

And if you’re scared, if you feel ashamed — just tell me.
I’m here. I’ll wait.
Just please, don’t laugh when I say you’re mine.
Because I don’t say it to be funny.
I say it from the depths of my heart.

My dearest,
I’ve been searching for the right words to tell you what’s inside me.
Not because I have nothing to say — quite the opposite.
I carry so much within me: love, tenderness, pain, light.
I’ve just been afraid of touching something fragile in you —
something you might not have fully allowed yourself to feel yet.

When you laugh after I call you my girlfriend, I smile with you —
but something quietly tightens inside me.
Because I’m not playing with words.
To me, it’s not about an image or age.
To me, it’s you.

My beloved.
The one I’m with not by chance.
The one I want to fall asleep and wake up with.
Wait for spring and sip coffee with.
Read poetry beside.
And simply sit in silence.

I know you grew up in another world.
A stricter world.
Where love had to be hidden.
Where a woman with a woman wasn’t a story of joy, but a story of fear.

I understand that.
And that’s why I’m not angry.
I only ask:
If you truly feel good with me,
If what you say you feel is real…

Then don’t be ashamed.
Don’t laugh when I call you mine.
Don’t diminish what we share — because it is real.

You are beautiful.
You are strong.
You are alive.
And you have every right to feel not what’s “right” — but what’s true.

Don’t be afraid of judgment — I am here.
Don’t be afraid of yourself — I’m holding your hand.

I don’t need a label.
I don’t need a loud name for our relationship.
I need just one thing: for you to know that I love you.
And I am not ashamed of it.
Not for a single second.

You are my light.
You are not a mistake.
You are my choice.

And I’m here.
Always.
Yours.