Love

Love…

What is love, truly?

Is it more than a word we whisper into the dark, more than a flutter in the chest or a name we hold dear?

They say love is patient, love is kind. 

But what happens when love grows tired of waiting, and kindness is met only with silence?

What is love when it no longer feels like home, but more like a house you tiptoe through, afraid of stepping too loudly, afraid of waking a storm that’s always waiting?

What becomes of love when the fire turns cold, when the spark that once lit up two hearts is buried beneath layers of neglect, mistrust, and the weight of too many unspoken words?

They say, "Love will find a way."  

But what if love is lost in the maze?

What if the path is tangled in betrayal, muddy with apologies that came too late, littered with promises made in whispers but never kept?

Love, they say, can conquer all.

But even the strongest heart has limits.

Even the deepest well runs dry when no one comes to refill it.

What happens when love gets tired of being the only one fighting?

What happens when love is bruised, bandaged over and over, yet the wounds never truly heal?

What happens when love whispers, "No more..."

No more forgiving the same sin.

No more dancing with ghosts of who you used to be.

No more pretending that the cracks can still be filled with hope.

Love is supposed to be light.

But what if it starts to feel like a burden, one you carry alone, while the other turns away, oblivious or unwilling?

What is love when it’s full of longing but met with absence? 

When it still tries to bloom in a garden long abandoned?

They don’t tell you that sometimes, love hurts more than it heals.

That sometimes,love isn’t enough.

Not because it’s too small,but because it's been drained,cover and over,
by neglect, by ego, by silence.

What do you docwhen love still lives in your heart,but peace no longer lives in your home?

Do you stay and wither slowly, or walk away, carrying love like a scar
you may never stop feeling?

Perhaps love is not always meant to win.

Perhaps its greatest act of strength is knowing when to let go.

To say, "I love you,"

but not like this.

Not in pain.

Not in pieces.

So tell me…

What is love all about?

Is it holding on, or is it knowing when to set yourself free?