Love looks like early morning snuggles, long, slow, sexy lovemaking, holding hands while waiting, finding someone at the end of outstretched arms when bad news breaks.
Love is answered prayers, even when the response is slow or unexpected. Love is having faith.
Love is a little girl, waiting patiently by the school gates, face smudged, knapsack falling from shoulders, hair loose from their carefully-plaited braids.
Love is a man whose face lights up when he sees you, who is never too busy to listen, who makes time for delicious dates.
Love is goodbye kisses, afternoon naps, a hand on your back when you’re bent over in grief.
Love is a team coming together, a project held in your hands, creativity, cooperation, completion.
Love looks like a home that has no place in your Instagram feed, full of the mess and memories of a life well-lived.
Love is a pile of books, a basket of yarn, journals filled with fragile hopes, whispered fears, tender dreams.
Love looks like women, laughing around a demolished chocolate cake, whose kids now play with each other as you did then.
Love is the family you’ve grown up with and the family you’ve found.
Love is little moments of joy, unexpected pockets of bliss, kindness, forgiveness, and courage.
It is always a choice, to live knowing that you are love and are loved.
