The Flow of Love

Love moves like water—

not in straight lines, not in the ways

we expect it to.

It curls around edges,

spills over quiet places,

finds the cracks we never knew existed

and fills them like moonlight on an open palm.

It doesn’t ask for permission.

It doesn’t wait to be named.

I have seen it in the way the wind shifts

before the storm has a voice,

felt it in the hush between heartbeats,

where something unseen holds everything together.

But love is not only softness.

It is the weight of the river against the stone,

the slow carving, the breaking apart,

the surrender to something larger

than our own two hands.

And here it turns—

the tide pulling back, the air thick with knowing.

Because love is not only the flood,

but the drought that teaches us thirst.

Not only the warmth of the fire,

but the ember left smoldering

long after the flame is gone.

And maybe that is the way of it—

not a destination, not a promise written in sky,

but the current beneath us,

pulling, pushing, reshaping,

leading us home in ways

we may never understand.