I used to think love was supposed to hurt —
that passion meant chaos, that silence meant distance,
that being chosen meant being enough.

But the truth is, I confused intensity with intimacy.
I mistook attention for affection.
And I stayed too long in places where my heart kept shrinking just to fit.

Now, I know better.
Love isn’t supposed to make you anxious.
It isn’t supposed to make you question your worth.
It isn’t supposed to feel like you’re begging to be seen.

The kind of love I deserve now is gentle.
It doesn’t raise its voice.
It listens.
It stays.

It doesn’t need to be perfect — only peaceful.
It doesn’t have to fill every silence — just be present in it.
It feels like home, not like a test.

Maybe that’s what growing up through heartbreak really means —
not closing your heart,
but raising your standards for who gets to hold it.

I’ve stopped chasing love that feels like survival.
Now, I wait for the kind that feels like peace.

Because after everything I’ve been through,
I finally understand —
the love that lasts isn’t the one that takes your breath away,
it’s the one that lets you breathe.

Always and Forever