After every storm, after every night when love felt too heavy to carry, there was always a choice. To walk away, or to stay. To let go, or to hold tighter. And again and again, we stayed.

It wasn’t because it was easy. It wasn’t because we never doubted or never hurt. We stayed because somewhere deep inside, we knew what we had was worth every fight, every tear, every scar.

Love is not about never breaking. It’s about mending. It’s about choosing each other not just when the sun shines, but when the rain won’t stop falling. It’s about looking at the same person who has hurt you, who has seen your darkest sides, and saying: I still choose you.

There were days I thought we couldn’t make it. But then I saw the way you looked at me — not with perfection, but with truth. With a kind of love that says: I know who you are, and I want you anyway.

And that’s what saved us.
Not flawless love. Not fairytales. But the raw, imperfect, stubborn choice to stay.

Because in the end, love isn’t a feeling that just happens.
It’s a decision.
And ours was always this: we stay.

Always and Forever