There’s something about love that defies logic, something beyond the world of caution and reason. We’re all drawn to it like a moth to a flame, knowing fully well the flame will burn us, but still, we inch closer. We tell ourselves that we don’t want love like the movies, grand gestures, and fireworks, but deep down, we do. We crave the small moments, the quiet beauty that blossoms in the midst of chaos.
I want eyes to meet across the room, lingering just long enough to leave an impression. A magnetic pull, an unspoken invitation, two souls recognizing something familiar in each other. I want that happenstance, that unexpected brush with fate where the universe conspires, just for a moment, to bring two people together. I want the meet-cute, that serendipitous moment when everything aligns and something magical begins.
Love doesn’t need to be loud like breaking news. It doesn’t need to announce itself with fanfare and spectacle. But I want the little things—the smile that makes my heart skip a beat, the gaze that feels like it sees into my soul, the silent muse that offers more comfort than words ever could. I want eyes that light up, pupils that dilate in response to something more profound than just attraction—a recognition, perhaps, of something deeper.
Star-crossed lovers with a touch of fate—it sounds like a cliché, but maybe clichés exist for a reason. There’s something irresistibly romantic about the idea of love being written in the stars, of two people destined to find each other no matter the odds. I want that, even if it’s fleeting, even if it’s bound to end in heartbreak. Love, after all, isn’t about forever. It’s about the moments that take your breath away, the fleeting, perfect instances that leave a lasting imprint.
I want love to be like the seasons, like Christmas and Halloween—both joyous and eerie, comforting and unpredictable. I want the sweetness of marshmallows melting in hot chocolate, the warmth of someone close beside me. I want the whispers in the dark, the secrets shared in the intimacy of dreams. I’m ready for all of it, even the heartbreak that inevitably comes when you love deeply.
I’m prepared for the gut-wrenching pain that comes when love ends, for the ache that lingers long after the person is gone. But I want that love all the same. I want the sting, the burn, the stain it leaves behind, because love isn’t meant to be neat and tidy. It’s messy, chaotic, and raw. It’s like rain on a windowpane, soft at first, but gradually building in intensity until it consumes you entirely. And when it does, you’re forever changed.
I want to be painted in all the colors of love—golden and blue, bright and dark, a myriad of hues that capture every nuance of what it means to love and be loved. Even if some moments are tinged with blood-red pain, I’ll take it, because to feel deeply is to live fully. I just want someone to hold me, to make me feel safe, to remind me that even in the chaos, there’s beauty.
Love is an overbearing give and take, a delicate balance that’s bound to tip one way or another. But even when it falls apart, even when everything unravels, I’ll hold onto the beauty of the experience. Because sometimes, the most beautiful things in life are the ones that break us. A love that ends is still a love worth having, and the mistakes we make in the name of love are often the most beautiful mistakes of all.
Failures don’t define us; they shape us. They help us grow, push us to become better versions of ourselves. So if I haven’t burned, singed, or cried, have I really lived? Have I truly embraced the full spectrum of what it means to love, to feel, to be alive?
I know love will end. I know it will crash and burn, leaving nothing but ashes in its wake. But I also know it will be worth it. Every heartbreak, every tear, every moment of joy—it all leads to something greater, something more profound than we can ever anticipate. And when the time comes to bid farewell to love, to mourn its passing, I’ll smile. I’ll smile at the one that I wouldn’t trade for anything in the world. I’ll smile as I look back on it as a beautiful mistake.
My beautiful mistake.