​Not Fireworks, Just Candlelight

I don’t want the kind of love that makes your stomach flip or your heart race—the kind that leaves you jittery, sweaty, or too giddy. I don’t want the kind of love that has you checking your reflection a dozen times, making sure every strand of hair is perfect. I don’t want the kind of love that makes you pace back and forth, tense, careful, walking on eggshells, choosing every word like it’s a performance. I don’t want grand gestures, big trips, expensive flowers, or gifts.

I want the kind of love that feels deliberate, quiet, and real—the kind of love that feels like a random Sunday afternoon, slow and easy. I want the kind of love that doesn’t stumble over words in fear, but speaks freely because it wants to connect. I want the kind of love that hands you the last cup of coffee or the last spoon of ice cream without hesitation, just because it notices you. I want the kind of love that doesn’t keep you awake at night, because it’s steady enough that even in sleep, you’ll wake to the same warmth.

I want the kind of love that tells you you are beautiful—and means it. The kind of love that asks, not to keep the conversation going, but to truly know you. The kind of love that is unapologetic, the kind that says, “Here’s a photo that reminded me of you today. I miss you.” The love that admits, “I don’t understand you—help me understand.”

I want the kind of love that is gentle, calm, patient. The kind of love that doesn’t just cheer you on, but offers rest and says, “It’s okay. Maybe next time will be better.” The love that won’t carry your weight for you, but holds out its hand and says, “Here, let me walk with you.” I want a love that burns slowly, like your favorite scented candle. A love that warms your pillow just the way you like it, because it notices every detail, because it cares enough to know.