what love is.
love is the thing that keeps us safe. it’s the thing we remember the longest and feel the deepest and try the hardest for.
love keeps us spinning—a revolving top at the eye of calm and joy and fear and grief and ecstasy.
it’s grit and velvet.
love is recalling a first touch with every touch. it’s releasing the torments—lies we’ve fed ourselves and wounds we’ve endured at the hands of others—because we know the promise of more exists within us and around us, an electric static in the ether.
it’s trying when you’ve got less than nothing left.
love is celebrating the inhale with a gracious exhale. it’s stillness wrapped in overload and falling as we rise.
love is evolution; a good-intentioned revolt against a self who hasn’t lived.
love is a ceremonious risk of hearts and bodies in a world that sometimes forgets to nurture. it’s a gamble between the comfort of existing in the safety of what is—with all its intricate inadequacies—and what might be.
love is imperfect words melding with mismatched tempos for a song indescribably pure. it’s the explosion of time contained in a single kiss; the recollection of a moment you call home.
artwork: “danced out of existence” by vanitylife
—this post was grown on the gram.