Where Love Learns to Rest

🌫 Where Love Learns to Rest

Love did not ask for permission.

It did not rush the door or claim the future.

It arrived quietly,

sat down beside them,

and waited to be noticed.

They were tired people.

Not in the dramatic sense—

just worn by days that asked too much

and gave too little back.

They carried careful hearts,

the kind that have been broken once

and learned how to survive.

At first, they spoke about small things.

Weather.

Music.

The strange comfort of routines.

But beneath every word,

there was something unspoken

gently leaning toward the other.

He learned her in fragments.

The way she paused before answering.

The way she smiled without realizing it.

The way she looked at the world

as if it were something worth forgiving.

She learned him in quiet moments.

The way he stayed present even when silent.

The way his kindness was not performative,

but instinctive.

The way he never asked her to be less.

They did not fall.

They settled.

Into conversations that stretched late

without growing heavy.

Into glances that said, I see you,

without needing proof.

There were days when love felt distant.

When doubt crept in like fog.

When old wounds remembered how to ache.

But love did not panic.

It understood seasons.

Sometimes it spoke.

Sometimes it simply listened.

Sometimes it stepped back,

trusting that what was real would return.

And it always did.

They learned that love does not demand certainty.

It asks for presence.

For honesty.

For the courage to stay gentle

in a world that teaches hardness.

They learned that love is not about fixing.

It is about witnessing.

Standing beside someone

while they become themselves.

One day, without realizing it,

they stopped wondering if love would last.

It already had.

Not because it was loud.

Not because it was perfect.

But because it had learned where to rest.

In the quiet.

In the ordinary.

In them.

And that, too,

was poetry. 🌫✨