Love

When I was little,

Ithought love was light—

soft as morning,

sweet as laughter in another room.

I believed it was only happiness,

only warmth,

only something pure enough

to never hurt

But I grew.

And love was no longer just light.

It was a flame—

and I let it burn through me,

because they say

everything is fair in love,

don’t they?

So I stayed,

even when it consumed me.

I lost myself in loving someone,

believing that to be loved

I had to give everything I had—

even the parts of me

that were slowly turning to ash.

But that was never love.

Love is not a storm

you must survive.

It is not fear dressed as passion,

nor silence heavy with doubt.

Love should feel safe—

like being held without trembling.

Like being seen

without shrinking.

Like being understood

without begging.

Love is the gentlest power—

strong enough to heal

the deepest cracks,

yet fierce enough

to shatter you

if placed in the wrong hands.

And still,

despite everything,

I believe—

Love, when it is true,

does not destroy you.

It heals you.