What is Love Love is not the blaze of passion, nor the sharp edge of longing. It does not demand, it does not keep score. Love is the quiet placing of your trembling heart into hands you trust more than your own. Love is gentleness when the world has turned cruel— the hush of your touch on my most frightened days, your steady voice when all I could hear was noise and harm. Love is giving all of yourself without ledger or bargain, and calling it joy. Love is never cruelty, never rage that lingers, never the cold shape of absence. It is the courage to be fragile, to let another guard what is most breakable in you. Love is knowing every quirk and shadow, and choosing them still. It is listening when weariness bows your head, the blanket drawn over my shoulders before I knew I was cold. Love is being received unchanged— and cherished beyond deserving. Love is not deceit. Not unkindness. Never small or shrinking. It is the holy risk of devotion, the way one soul...