Love.
This word has made me crazy, foolish, wise, strong, independent, wild, and free—everything at once.
It’s something I’ve been chasing since childhood, searching for shelter from the fear of abandonment.

I searched for love even in chaos, even in anger.
They told me it was in the way they protected me, even if it meant binding my wings.
They told me it was in their aggression, even when their words cut like thorns.
They told me it was in their eyes, even when that gaze never truly passed the sight of my skin.

They told me many things about love.
I listened. I looked. But I never found it in those dark places.

Instead, I found love in the warmth of those arms that held me without caging me.
I found it in words spoken with care, consciousness, affection, and truth.
I found it in eyes that didn’t just look at me—but saw me, piercing through skin and touching my soul.

They say there are countless kinds of love—as many as there are people in this world.
But after years of searching, I’ve come to understand:

There is only one kind of love—
One that only the wise know how to give.
 

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