There was a time I thought love was a wildfire
something that proves itself by how fast it burns you alive.
I mistook anxiety for intimacy,
late-night overthinking for devotion,
and silence that stung for something sacred I just had to “understand.”
But real love is not a storm that leaves you searching for shelter.
It is a house that is still standing when the weather changes.
And I learned slowly, painfully
that you can call a thing destiny
simply because you wanted it to stay.
So I held on to almost-love like it was prophecy,
when it was really just potential that never learned how to become presence.
Still, I do not call it wasted.
Even the ocean shapes the stone it breaks.
The Lord, in His quiet way,
showed me I had built an altar out of being chosen by people
instead of resting in being already known by Him.
So what could not stay… fell.
Not as punishment—
but as pruning.
And sometimes it still feels like walking through an empty cathedral in my mind,
hearing echoes of what I once believed would last forever.
But I am learning now:
love is not meant to consume you like fire,
It is meant to refine you like gold.
Somewhere ahead of me,
there is a man who will not treat love like a spark that fades,
but like a vow that holds weight even in silence.
Not perfect,but present.
Not loud, but steady.
Maybe he is becoming, even now,
the kind of man who knows how to stay
when things are no longer easy to romanticize.
And maybe he has prayed for a girl like me
not because I am flawless,
but because I am still soft after learning what could have made me hard.
So I will keep walking with God.
Because I am no longer waiting to be chosen like a momentary feeling
I am being prepared like something meant to last.
May 20
May 20, 2026 at 11:06 AM UTC
There was a time I thought love was a wildfire
something that proves itself by how fast it burns you alive.
I mistook anxiety for intimacy,
late-night overthinking for devotion,
and silence that stung for something sacred I just had to “understand.”
But real love is not a storm that leaves you searching for shelter.
It is a house that is still standing when the weather changes.
And I learned slowly, painfully
that you can call a thing destiny
simply because you wanted it to stay.
So I held on to almost-love like it was prophecy,
when it was really just potential that never learned how to become presence.
Still, I do not call it wasted.
Even the ocean shapes the stone it breaks.
The Lord, in His quiet way,
showed me I had built an altar out of being chosen by people
instead of resting in being already known by Him.
So what could not stay… fell.
Not as punishment—
but as pruning.
And sometimes it still feels like walking through an empty cathedral in my mind,
hearing echoes of what I once believed would last forever.
But I am learning now:
love is not meant to consume you like fire,
It is meant to refine you like gold.
Somewhere ahead of me,
there is a man who will not treat love like a spark that fades,
but like a vow that holds weight even in silence.
Not perfect,but present.
Not loud, but steady.
Maybe he is becoming, even now,
the kind of man who knows how to stay
when things are no longer easy to romanticize.
And maybe he has prayed for a girl like me
not because I am flawless,
but because I am still soft after learning what could have made me hard.
So I will keep walking with God.
Because I am no longer waiting to be chosen like a momentary feeling
I am being prepared like something meant to last.