Image by rony michaud from Pixabay
I used to think love arrived like a rescue,
lights flashing, heart pounding,
someone pulling me out of myself
and calling it destiny.
But love never came to save me.
It came to sit beside me
while I learned how to breathe on my own.
Love doesn’t rush.
It watches.
It studies the way your silence changes
when you’re tired,
the way your voice softens
when you finally stop pretending you’re fine.
Love is not loud.
It doesn’t demand proof.
It doesn’t ask you to perform healing
or sparkle through your wounds.
Love notices the pauses.
The almost-texts.
The nights when you stare at the ceiling
negotiating with the universe
about how much more you can carry.
Love says,
“You don’t have to explain that pain to me.
I already recognize it.”
Real love doesn’t chase you.
It walks beside your pace,
even when your pace keeps changing.
It doesn’t fear your past.
It understands that survival
leaves fingerprints on the soul.
Love knows when to touch
and when to let you be still.
It doesn’t panic when you pull away.
It knows the difference
between...
