the wild garden of love

“beneath every scar, love still grows—untamed, unbroken, a fire that refuses to fade.”

love has never been a clean-lined story for me. it is a wild garden, blooming where it wants, thorned and radiant all at once. it is the quiet thrum that wakes me before dawn and the electric pulse that refuses to let me drift back to sleep. i have met love in soft mornings when the house smells like coffee and forgiveness, and i have met it in the bruised hours when everything feels like breaking glass. love is not possession. it is showing up with your whole unruly heart—raw, imperfect, unarmored—and daring to stay. it is laughter cutting through an argument, a hand finding mine in the dark, the breath that steadies when eyes finally meet.

love is the long drive when silence feels like a language of its own, the sudden spark when a song from years ago finds you again, the warm weight of memory that softens even the hardest edges of a day. it is the reason i keep stepping back into the world after heartbreak, the reason i forgive the small betrayals of ordinary living. love has been the ocean that pulls me under and the shoreline that waits, patient, for my return. it has been the quiet blessing in my children’s voices, the unexpected kindness of a friend, the steady gaze of a partner who sees every fracture and stays.

i have learned that love is both the risk and the shelter. it is the reason i remain open even when winter lingers, the reason i bloom after every storm. love carries me back to myself when i wander too far. it is the river that keeps me moving and the field that lets me rest. it is the only language my bones will never stop speaking, the endless story i keep writing in ink and wildfire. no matter how many times it breaks or remakes me, love is the compass i return to, the one thing that refuses to fade.

with ink + bloom, 🌻