Love We Could

Love We Could

If we loved—

not like firecrackers in July,

loud and brief and falling back to ash—

but like seasons,

slow and sure,

changing everything without asking permission,

who could we become?

If we loved

not from fear of being alone,

but from fullness overflowing,

would we stop chasing and start choosing?

If we loved like the ocean—

not just the surface shimmer,

but the deep pull beneath—

could we teach the sky to stay?

What if love wasn’t found,

but remembered?

A buried seed we water daily,

not with perfect moments,

but with presence.

Love me not

like a script you memorized,

but like a song you’re still learning.

Wrong notes and all.

Let me love you

like rain loves the earth—

without asking to be noticed.

Let’s not love

to complete,

but to expand.

Let’s not trade hearts

like currency,

but hold them

like holy things.

We could become

a revolution in rhythm,

not thunder, but heartbeat—

steady, stubborn, and alive.

Let’s love

like questions,

not answers.

Let’s love

like dancing barefoot in the unknown,

where each step writes a new rule,

each glance starts a new game.

Because love—

real love—

isn’t fireworks,

it’s fuel.

It builds bridges between silences.

It makes mirrors into windows.

It breaks the cycle

of needing to be chosen

and teaches us to choose.

Let me see you—

not just your smile,

but the trembling underneath.

Let me be seen—

not as perfect,

but as trying,

as showing up.

We could be

poetry breathing,

sunrise walking,

truth speaking.

We could be

the kind of love

that leaves fingerprints

on the world,

not bruises.

If we loved

not for the *feeling*,

but for the *becoming*,

if we loved

as a way of **being**,

then we wouldn’t just be in love—

we’d be **love itself**.

And the world?

It would notice.

It would bloom.