Who told you love had a price?
That you had to earn it, prove it, buy your way in?
Who convinced you that empty pockets
make you less worthy of being held?

Tell me
what kind of love have you known
that made you believe you’re only as valuable
as the money in your hands?

Where did you find these people?
Or did they find you when you were young,
when you didn’t know that love
isn’t something you barter for,
isn’t something you beg for,
isn’t something that leaves when the bills run out?

Let me show you.
Love is staying when there’s nothing to offer but yourself.
Love is waking up beside you, not asking what you can give.
Love is choosing you-not your success, not your status, not your salary
just you.

And if you ever doubt it,
I will walk until my feet blister,
I will stand in the rain, drenched but unwavering,
I will ride the waves, let the tide pull me under,
if it means reaching you
if it means proving that love has never,
and will never,
be something you have to afford.