what the light should feel like 

i hope love
doesn’t always feel
like a task scratched onto a list—
another thing to get done
before the day ends.

i hope it’s not
something someone gives me
with a sigh,
out of duty,
or out of guilt
because they forgot yesterday.

i hope it’s not a performance,
rehearsed in front of mirrors
and delivered only when someone’s watching.

i hope it’s not
a box to be checked,
a promise whispered
but too fragile to carry weight.

i pray i find a love
that isn’t built on pressure,
or the fear of loneliness,
or the obligation
to not let go.

i want to know love
the way sunlight touches skin—
without asking,
without force,
without apology.

i want to know someone
who doesn’t flinch
at the full weight of who i am.

because i have known
how to give love
the way oceans give themselves
to the shore
again
and again—
even when pulled away.

i have loved
from the rawest parts of me—
the parts with no walls,
no masks,
no fine print.
just open hands
and a heart that didn’t know how to withhold.

i have poured
until i had to learn
what it meant
to pour from an empty cup.

and i’ve watched
as people drank from me
but never stayed
to fill me back.

but still—
i believe.

i believe there is love
that doesn’t have to be earned
through exhaustion.
that doesn’t shrink
when it sees all of me.

unfiltered.
unfolding.
unafraid.

i deserve to be loved
in the same language
i’ve always spoken—
quietly,
consistently,
completely.

and when it finds me,
i’ll know—
because it won’t knock like an intruder
or beg to be let in.
it will move through me
like something i’d always known,
but had almost forgotten.

it won’t feel like work.
it will feel
like breath.