The idea that nothing feels remotely like her hand. Nothing.
Love is bigger than what I can usually contemplate. It is full, and it makes my belly fuzzy. It charts me away from so many bad and limiting ideas that I have learned about myself.
Love is noticing a raindrop on her nose that makes her shivery and cold and wipin it away and bundling her up.
It’s the opening of my eyes to notice the huge importance of the only tiny things that matter.
Love makes warriors outta weaklings.
It’s catching your breath because she just came through the door.
Love is choiceless.
It demands my accountability and makes me a better human.
Love is the safety of familiarity.
She can be right next to me, and I have the freedom to act like I’m alone.