A Gala Dress and a Worn-Out Shirt
I sat by the beach this afternoon,
watching a young couple from afar.
Laughing and rolling on the sand,
being silly, building sandcastles,
chasing each other along the shore,
teasing and laughing like siblings.
Having an argument without the fear of being left behind,
feeling safe to complain, knowing you won't be scolded.
I thought, maybe love should feel exactly like this.
Maybe love shouldn’t shrink the storyteller in you into silence,
terrified that every story you share, might turn into a cold interrogation.
Maybe love shouldn’t make you walk on eggshells constantly,
spending most of your time editing your own tongue before speaking.
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Maybe love shouldn’t feel like a performance.
Maybe it was never about faking who you are,
or forcing you to be perfect every time.
Instead, you can be entirely imperfect,
and they will still choose you, no matter what.
Maybe love is never about "being easy" just to be accepted,
it was never about putting each other on a pedestal.
Maybe love shouldn’t feel like wearing heavy armor,
or keeping your shields up, just to feel safe.
Maybe love shouldn’t feel like wearing fancy couture to a gala
sparkling and heavy, yet so itchy and uncomfortable
that you just want to rush home, take it off, and lie down.
Maybe love should feel easy.
Like a weight lifted off your shoulders,
making the whole world feel lighter when you face it together.
Maybe love should feel like freedom.
Like wearing your favorite, worn-out, coziest shirt;
warm, weightless, with no expectations.
Just comfortable.
Like a warm hug on a cold night,
and a gentle breeze on a hot summer day.
August 17, 2026.
