It isn’t a recipe you can follow.
It isn’t a list of actions,
a choreographed dance.
Love is the wind through wind chimes,
the sunlight reflecting in eyes.
Love is the soft call of a morning bird,
cold feet and warm hands,
the aroma drifting from a bakery,
a hand on your back, tracing circles.

Love is a jagged stone,
once rough, now smooth.

I cannot explain love,
but I know it when I look in your eyes.

I hope the words we whisper to one another
carry on the wind like a gentle song.
Lend an ear to the earth, and you'll hear
my heart that beats for you.

Gentle drips of water from mossy rocks,
telling you how much you mean to me.
The creaking trees, swaying in the wind,
implore you to listen.

If my voice fades,
let nature finish the verse.

If we come back to one another,
may we find the peace we missed out on as kids.
May we find the safety and connection that was lacking.
May we never cease to try,
to speak, to listen, to love one another.
May we bear our souls, gently, without fear.

If we come back,
may we see the kindness we embody.
May we hold each other tenderly.
May our wounds not be gone,
but turned to scars,
proof that we’ve healed, even if we haven’t forgotten.
May our expressions soften,
our edges wear down with time and care.

When I was young,
I thought love was the willingness to die for someone.
Now I know
it is the willingness to live,
to stay, even when it’s uncertain,
even without guarantees.
Even when I don't believe I'm worth it,
for you,
I will try.

You threaded the needle to stitch my broken heart.
You pressed salve into wounds I dared not show.
You wrapped gauze around the blood I couldn’t stop.
You held my hand as I cried through the ache.

You kissed each bruise like a whispered promise,
Tender in your tending, patient in your care.
With your strength, I found my footing,
Together, we walked, side by side.

As you took to my wounds, I embraced yours:
A shaky hand, a trembling breath.
You welcomed the kindness, for a time,
Held my flaws,
Heard my pleas,
Rested in my presence.

But the salves began to drip,
Truth slipping through the seams.
The gauze frayed, falling to the floor,
Pain flaring where healing had begun.

The thread unraveled, stitch by stitch.
I turned to reach for you,
But your hands were busy
Mending someone else.

If only my wounds had mended
Before you treated me.

I’ll rub dirt in it next time.

I want connection without the plea,

A quiet knowing, you see me.
Not in the loud, performative way,

But in the hush of everyday.
I want safety in a soul's soft place,

Room to cry, to laugh, to misplace,

My calm, and not be cast aside,

But held, gently, while the storm subsides.
I want love that doesn’t need a stage,

But shows up anyway, day by day.

Love that’s in the dishes,

In the tangled legs,

In the bad jokes told while making eggs.
I want to come home and find you there,

Not fixing me, just being near.

Existing together in shared delight,

In morning messes and candlelight.
I want to be known, not just the face,

But all the shadows I still embrace.

Someone who’s curious, patient, true,

Who asks me questions no one else knew.
I want peace, not tiptoed dread,

Not feeling watched, or words unsaid.

But steady love, with open eyes,

With truth that never needs disguise.
I want passion, in your world and mine,

A partner who finds the time
,
To walk beside me, chase the spark,

Map constellations in the dark.
I want spontaneity, trails unplanned,

To dance in the ocean, or lie in the sand.

To hold your hand and not feel small,

To be my whole self, flaws and all.
When I'm anxious, I want your calm,

Not to fix me, just to lend your palm.

Stand with me while I learn to cope,

Rooted in love, and grounded hope.
I want space, but never distance.

Closeness with coexistence.
Not every second marked or planned,
But side by side hand in hand.

A love that grows, wild and wise,

But always finds its way back to "us" every time.

Waiting around for your response,
Candlelight flickers in a hanging sconce.
A letter or message, what will it be?
A simple "hey" from you to me.

Which mode will you elect?
A tidal wave, or just a text?
Drown me in your heavy words,
Or toss me gently to the curb.

Leave no words left unsaid,
Don’t bash it into my head.
I've ached and wondered for so long,
Waiting for your little song.

My ear pressed up against the door,
Wishing, waiting, wanting more

I am not a bottle of shampoo.
Yet I keep watering myself down,
diluting everything that once made me
rich, whole, enough.

I stretch myself thin,
like plastic pulled too far,
translucent, fragile.
I work too much,
as if sacrificing my life could patch the leaks.

I am afraid to take up space.
Afraid that presence is too loud,
that my fullness might offend.
So I pour myself out in teaspoons,
measured, polite, disappearing.

If I keep watering myself down,
there will be nothing left
of the original product,
just a bottle,
and a label full of water.

Branded, but empty.