I’ve always believed in love.
Not in a vague, hopeless romantic kind of way, not as something fragile or fleeting, but as something vast, something eternal. A call to the sacred that has always been imprinted on my soul.
I’ve always known this love was real—true love, soul-connected love. The kind of love that isn’t just about companionship or comfort, but expansion. I’ve always believed in the kind of love that’s meant to ignite you and help you grow into the fullest version of yourself—the kind that awakens something in you, that helps you see the world more clearly and yourself more deeply.
I’ve always known this love existed. I’ve felt it in the core of my being for as long as I can remember, and while I experienced a long-term first-love kind of relationship when I was younger, and while I’ve had crushes and dated here and there as I got older, I think, subconsciously, it was this love that I was waiting for.
Something in me always knew there was more.
Maybe that’s why I never chased love.
I wasn’t closed to it, but I wasn’t willing to settle, either. Because something in me always knew: this love was going to find me.
Eventually.
And then one day, it did.