This love does not write me poetry, declaring daily his never-ending admiration.
This love does not kneel before me, worshiping my mere existence.
This love is not rose petals on the floor, or songs written by sweaty palms and sung by shaky voices.
This love is not too much, too soon.
This love is also not…
Keeping me for himself, fearful that any attention placed elsewhere is an insult to him.
This love does not leave me anxious and questioning why I am not enough.
This love is not nights alone, tears on the pillow, uncertainty swimming through my head.
This love is not settling.
It is not staying for a friendship yet yearning for a connection.
This love is setting me free,
understanding I am better to be enjoyed by all,
that I have so much to give to the world around me.
This love is reciprocating,
teamwork of two people expecting the same from each other.
This love is motivating and uplifting,
understanding that my progress is our progress.
This love is respectful, of my boundaries,
of who I am and who I am not.
This love is accepting of my past, my wounds,
my shortcomings, and my flaws.
This love craves to know my mind before my body,
but knows how to illicit pleasure through his touch just as much as his words.
This love is calm, steady,
like the sea at night, reflecting the stars, waves crashing with the beating of our hearts, both never ceasing.
like an artist painting brushstrokes on a canvas of a muse who lights their soul on fire.
like Saturday morning, drinking coffee on the lanai with your favorite person, worries on pause.
like knowing your thoughts and desires are understood and protected, not to be used against you.
This is the love I dared to dream of,
but never believed I could capture.
This love is all the things I’ve heard other people describe before, but never could relate.
This love is worth all the past failures,
providing me the ability to recognize the difference between toxicity and security.
This love feels like completion,
This love feels like home.