what comes after i love you
There was a time when all I needed to hear was that someone loved me.
I used to think that hearing those words would be enough to quiet every question in my head. That somehow, once someone finally said them, I wouldn’t have to wonder anymore. I wouldn’t have to question where I stood, what I meant to them, or whether what I felt was being felt just as deeply on the other side. I thought those words could settle everything I had been trying so hard to understand.
And maybe, at some point, I genuinely believed that was all I wanted.
I remember listening to All I Need To Hear by The 1975 and thinking about how much I wanted to hear those words from someone. It felt simple. I wasn’t asking for anything special. I didn’t need a perfect explanation or a long conversation about what we were. I just wanted to know that the feeling was there, that it was real, and that I wasn’t the only one holding on to something.
But lately, I’ve been thinking about how much that has changed.
Because what happens after someone tells you they love you?
What happened when the words are finally there, but you still find yourself wondering what they mean? When someone tells you that they care, but you’re left trying to understand how that care is supposed to exist outside the conversation? When the reassurance feels comforting in the moment, only for the same questions to return once the conversation ends?..
I’ve come to realize that I don’t just want to hear that I’m loved. I want to understand what that love looks like.
I want to see it in the little things, not because every small gesture has to prove something, but because I believe that feelings naturally find their way into the way we treat people. In the effort someone makes without having to be reminded. In the willingness to communicate, even when the conversation isn’t easy. In the consistency that doesn’t make affection feel like something I have to keep earning or waiting for.
I want honesty, even when the truth is not exactly what I hoped to hear.
Especially then..
I don’t want someone to tell me what I want to hear just because they know it will make me happy. I don’t want words given out of guilt, pressure, or the fear of disappointing me. I would rather hear an honest uncertainty than a promise someone isn’t ready to stand by. I would rather understand where someone is genuinely is than be comforted by and answer that only sounds right.
And I think that’s an important distinction I’ve learned to make: being reassured and being understood are not always the same thing.
Sometimes, reassurance tells you that everything is fine. But understanding allows you to ask questions, have difficult conversations, and acknowledge that not everything has been figured out yet. It gives both people room to be honest without making one person feel responsible for carrying the entire conversation.
Get rlieth’s stories in your inbox
Join Medium for free to get updates from this writer.
I don’t expect you to have every feeling sorted out immediately. I know that people take time to understand themselves. Sometimes, even when you want to explain what is happening inside your head, you don’t have the right words for it yet. And I think that’s okay. I don’t want to rush something simply because I am afraid of not knowing where it will lead.
But I also don’t want uncertainty to become a place where we stay forever without ever trying to understand it.
I want to know if we’re both confused, we’re both willing to figure things out. That if something feels different, we can acknowledge it instead of pretending it isn’t there. That if a conversation needs to happen, I won’t always have to be the one finding the courage to start it. I want to feel that the desire to understand what we are and what we would become doesn’t belong to just one person.
Because there’s a difference between giving someone time and continuously putting your own feelings aside while you wait..
And perhaps that’s another thing I’ve had to learn: I can be patient without abandoning what I need. I can understand someone else’s uncertainty without convincing myself that mine doesn’t matter. I can care about what someone is going through and still recognize that I have feelings of my own that deserve to be acknowledged.
For a long time, I thought wanting to hear those words was the same as wanting to beloved. Now, I think I was only beginning to understand what being loved could mean.
It’s not that hearing “I love you” no longer matters to me. It does. I still think there is something beautiful about being able to say those words and mean every part of them. But I don’t want them to become a substitute for conversations that need to happen, efforts that need to be made, or intentions that need to be shown.
I want the words to have somewhere to go.
I want them to exist in the decisions we make, the conversations we don’t avoid, and the effort we choose to give each other. I want them to be reflected in the way we make room for one another, not just when everything feels easy, but also when things become confusing or uncomfortable.
And maybe this is what growing up in the way I understand love looks like. Not necessarily wanting more from another person, but understanding that I am allowed to want more than a few comforting words. That I don’t have to settle for an answer simply because it is the answer I once spent so much time hoping to hear.
I don’t need everything to be certain right away. I don’t need a promise that nothing will change between us. I just want sincerity. I want intention. I want the kind of effort that makes me feel like I’m not alone in trying to understand where something is going.
I want to be able to listen to someone say they love me and not have to spend the rest of my time wondering what happens after that.
Because there was a time when all I needed to hear was that someone loved me. I though those words would be enough to answer everything.
But I think I’ve outgrown the idea that love is something I only need to hear.
I want to see it, understand it, and feel it in the things that words alone cannot carry.
And if someone ever tells me they love me, I hope it’s not just something they know I want to hear. I hope it’s something they understand, something they mean, and something the’re willing to make room for in the way they choose to show up.
Because, now, I know that isn’t all I need to hear.
