Some people long for a life that is simple and plain,
quiet days and unremarkable nights,
a softness that asks for nothing more than ease.
But I longed for love,
not the kind that dazzles or performs,
not the kind that burns too fast and disappears
I longed for love that felt real,
love that felt ordinary in the most sacred way.
Some people long to be held in the arms of their lovers as sleep takes them,
to rest without fear,
to be wrapped in warmth and certainty.
And I longed for the same.
not just the arms,
but the feeling of being chosen even in silence,
of being thought of even when nothing is asked for.
Every day, my longing grew,
carried far by the wind,
stretched thin by a purpose called time.
In this life filled with great unknowns,
my heart learned how to wait,
how to hope quietly,
how to ache without making a sound.
But how do I survive
when my anchor is never held?
When the one I wait for
does not wait for me in return?
When I dream of being dearest to his thoughts,
to his heart,
yet remain only a passing thought,
a temporary feeling he never learns to keep?
I ask myself in the quiet moments,
is my longing too much?
Too soft for a world that loves hard edges?
Too dreamy for a love that prefers convenience over depth?
Or is it simply that my heart
was brave enough to want something honest
in a world that settles for less?
I did not ask for perfection.
I did not ask for forever written in fire.
I only asked for ordinary love,
the kind that stays,
the kind that holds,
the kind that does not let go
when time tests it.
And yet here I am,
still longing,
still waiting,
still wondering
if wanting to be loved gently
was ever a flaw at all.