​To the Love I’m Still Learning

I used to think
love was supposed to hurt a little—
that if it didn’t bruise,
it didn’t count.

I used to think
needing space
meant something was wrong,
that silence
meant someone was leaving.

I am unlearning that.

I am learning
that love can sound like
“take your time,”
that it can look like
two people sitting in the same room
not trying to fix each other.

I am learning
that my fear
is not a prophecy.
That my instincts were trained
in chaos
and now they are learning
a new language.

See—
I still flinch
when things are calm.
I still wait
for the other shoe
to confess itself.

But I am practicing
staying.

Practicing
not turning tenderness
into a warning sign.
Practicing
not mistaking peace
for boredom.

I am learning
that love doesn’t have to be loud
to be real.
That it doesn’t have to chase me
to choose me.

I am learning
how to be held
without apologizing.
How to be seen
without running.
How to be loved
without preparing
for the exit.

So if I move slowly—
know it is not doubt.
It is devotion
being careful
with what finally feels safe.

This love
is not the kind
you fall into.

It is the kind
you build
with both hands open.

And I am still learning
how to live inside it
without bracing.