The Way We Love
Once, I was young—
soft, unguarded, untouched by the world's slow erosion.
But life whispered its ruin,
and now I move carefully,
each step weighed beneath old echoes.
I once gave love like rain—
reckless, generous, blind.
But the years, with their quiet cruelty,
taught me the art of withholding.
I've come to see—
some hearts can’t hold what we pour into them.
Some hands fumble the fragile offering.
and often,
the love they return
doesn’t quite fit the shape of our longing.
We love as we were taught,
or as we survived.
not always as we were meant to.
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