Love feels like walking through a world suddenly sharpened —
colors louder, air sweeter, every horizon tugging you forward
as if the earth itself wants to show you something new.
It begins in the hush before a storm,
that charged quiet where your chest glows
like someone lit a lantern behind your ribs
and the light is trying to escape.
It’s two silhouettes running downhill at sunset,
laughing like the sky cracked open just to hear it,
hands clasped so tightly the wind can’t slip between,
motion blurring into something holy.
It’s the miracle of being seen —
fully, gently, without flinching —
and realizing your heart has started speaking
in a language only one other soul can hear.
Love is motion and stillness at once,
a soft gravity, a warm gravity,
pulling you home even as you’re flying,
teaching you that falling was only the beginning.


























































































