Enough

All my life I thought love had to be earned, like a prize for good behavior, like approval waiting at the finish line. So I performed, I polished, I became smaller in some places, louder in others, just to be worthy. But real love isn’t a transaction. It doesn’t keep score, doesn’t ask for perfection. It simply says, be here, as you are. Still, the fear lingers, if I stop trying, will you still stay? If I just breathe, will that be enough? And yet, the love that lasts, the love that truly frees, does not demand proof. It chooses you, not the version you worked so hard to build. Just you.