the intimacy of "how did you know that" - mixtapes by gor

there’s an intimacy in “how did you know that?” that no grand declaration can touch. a kind of love that lives in the smallest, most ordinary gestures. so quiet they slip beneath language. unnoticed by anyone outside the moment. it’s not performative. it’s not loud. it breathes in the noticing. the remembering. the reverence of presence. it’s not just that i made your favorite dish. it’s that i remembered how you like it. that once, without emphasis, you said you like your dal thicker, like your mother makes it. that too much garlic unsettles your stomach. that you prefer steamed rice, not jeera. so i soaked the lentils longer. watched three videos to get the texture right. added ghee, even though i never do. i don’t tell you any of this. i just serve it hot. and i wait. i watch your face. the way your shoulders drop on the first bite. i wonder if you can taste the hour i spent stirring you into it. the song that played in the background. the way i thought of your laugh when the cumin

there’s an intimacy in “how did you know that?” that no grand declaration can touch. a kind of love that lives in the smallest, most ordinary gestures. so quiet they slip beneath language. unnoticed by anyone outside the moment. it’s not performative. it’s not loud. it breathes in the noticing. the remembering. the reverence of presence. it’s not just that i made your favorite dish. it’s that i remembered how you like it. that once, without emphasis, you said you like your dal thicker, like your mother makes it. that too much garlic unsettles your stomach. that you prefer steamed rice, not jee