If I Have to Describe Love
About you
If I have to describe love,
I would not begin with promises
or the words people repeat so easily.
I would begin with something older.
Strong as an ancient stone castle
that still stands after centuries of wind and rain,
its walls steady against storms,
its towers watching the horizon
as if time itself had never been a threat.
Love can resemble that.
Solid.
Unmoving.
Certain.
But castles also have empty rooms.
And sometimes the echo inside them
is louder than the strength of the walls.
If I have to describe love,
I would say it resembles the sea.
From a distance it appears calm,
endless, generous with light.
People admire it from the shore
and speak about its beauty.
But those who come closer
learn that the sea has moods—
currents that pull without warning,
depths that do not easily reveal themselves,
and tides that return when they decide to return,
not when they are needed.
The surface can be peaceful.
The water beneath it rarely is.
If I have to describe love,
I would say it resembles a man
who walks through the world
as if certainty were his natural state.
A steady voice, confident steps,
strength that makes others step aside—
and a tension that speaks without words,
because somewhere inside
he is angry simply for the fact
that he must stand there at all.
The world sees the strength.
The heart notices the rest.
Because love, when it is real,
does not erase the truth.
Sometimes it simply chooses
to look at the parts
the heart needs to see.
Strength.
Certainty.
The promise of something steady.
Only later
does the understanding begin.
So if I have to describe love,
I would say this:
Love is the quiet understanding
that someone can appear strong
and still be unfinished.
Love is seeing clearly
without immediately turning away.
And sometimes love is simply the moment
when admiration steps aside
and truth finally stands
where it always belonged.
Not a collapse.
Just the quiet understanding
that what we believed we were swimming in
was never meant to hold us above the surface.
