The Shape of Love

Love is not the fire that devours, nor the wave that pulls to the deep. It does not shout to be known, nor demand to be understood. It lingers in the spaces between words, in the quiet weight of presence. Not the fleeting spark of passion, but the steady glow of knowing. It is neither cage nor chain, but an open door, a steady hand. Not seeking to own, but to walk beside, neither ahead nor behind. If love must be named, let it be called patience, let it be called light, let it be called home. let it be called SUCCESS. Happy birthday.