From 📚Love Letters: To What Has Been, What Is, and What Awaits
"If there's any kind of magic in this world it must be in the attempt of understanding someone sharing something. I know, it's almost impossible to succeed but who cares really? The answer must be in the attempt" Celine, Before Sunrise
I wonder what free love would feel like.
Would it be soft like the flow of the ocean, embracing me without expectation, as natural as the tide kissing the shore?
Would it sneak into the small corners of my day, like sunlight filtering through the blinds on a quiet Saturday morning, touching everything with its glow?
Would it be there when I wake up slowly, still wrapped in the warmth of my bed, knowing that love is already part of my day, without me having to do anything to deserve it?
What would it look like to live with love woven so effortlessly into the mundane?
What would it feel like to be loved for free? Without the need to earn it, to shape myself into something more desirable, or do anything at all. Without having to bargain, beg, convince or prepare in any way.
What would it feel like to be loved for free? When there’s no pressure to perform, no need to convince, no checklist to follow. Just being able to sit on the sofa, not saying anything, yet knowing that love is simply there, wrapped around me like the salty air at the beach, making my chest feel lighter.
What would it be like to breathe in deeply, and with each breath, feel that love is just… there, waiting for me, steady and uncomplicated? Free.
What would it be like to exist, to just be, and be loved? For free. Like the sea cradling a drifting boat, holding it close, even when it moves without purpose. Would love feel like that, supportive, undemanding, always there, no matter if I’m still or restless?
Would it fill the spaces between folding laundry or sipping coffee, in the stillness of a late afternoon when the world feels slow and gentle? Would love become the rhythm of my routine, like waves meeting the sand, constant and calming, asking for nothing in return?
In the quiet moments, when I’m just standing still, would love be there, like a tide that always returns? Or when I laugh at something silly, catching his eye and holding his gaze, would love ripple between us like a secret we share?
What if, in those ordinary moments, when my hand brushes against his back slowly and without thinking, love could be as natural as the way a seashell finds its place in the sand, settled by the currents? Would I feel it then, this love that doesn’t need to be coaxed or chased?
Would it be the kind of love that’s present in all the little details, like someone noticing the way I bite my lip when I’m nervous, how I fidget with my necklace when I’m uncomfortable or laugh a little bit too loudly when something truly amuses me.
Could love be there when I’m not trying at all, when I’m just being myself, without effort or expectation?
What would it be like if someone looked forward to hearing my voice, not because of what I have to say, but because it’s mine? Or if he found joy in seeing my face at the end of the day, even when I’ve done nothing remarkable?
What would it be like if he just wanted to love me for the simple act of being near me, to love me simply for existing, without needing anything more? To be loved for just being, like the ocean loves the shore, patiently, over and over, without question or condition.
Wouldn’t that be beautiful, to know that my presence is enough, that I’m enough, without having to prove or earn anything.
Just being loved.
For free.
In those moments, when I’m simply there and love surrounds me without expectation, I would feel like I belong in a way I never have before, like I’d finally be part of this world, no longer standing on the outside, peeking in.
When he looked into her dark eyes, and saw that her lips were poised between a laugh and silence, he learned the most important part of the language that all the world spoke - the language that everyone on earth was capable of understanding in their heart. It was love. Something older than humanity, more ancient than the desert. Something that exerted the same force whenever two pairs of eyes met, as had theirs here at the well. She smiled, and that was certainly an omen - the omen he had been waiting without even knowing he was, all his life - The Alchemist
Comments