For a while now, I’ve had the most intense writer’s block of my life. For someone who has always found comfort in language and in crafting worlds out of words, it felt like losing the one thing that had always made sense. Days blurred into weeks, which turned into months. Every time I tried to write, my fingers hovered uselessly over my keyboard. I kept waiting for inspiration, but it didn’t arrive in the grand, cinematic way I expected. Instead, it crept in quietly – disguised as love and showing up in the smallest corners of my everyday life.
Love exists in the way your mom feeds you food when you visit home, even though you’re too old for it. Love exists in the way your apartment cat curls up beside you after a long day, her breathing syncing with yours as if to say: “I’m here too.” Love exists in the way your best friend and you eat a Chipotle burrito in the sauna and debrief about everything and anything. Love exists in the way your sister listens to you talk about absolutely nothing for hours on FaceTime, simply because she misses the sound of your voice. Love exists in the way your friends come over with yoga mats, turning your living room into a haven when you can’t quite face the world. Love exists in the way you sing your heart out at karaoke with your roommates, voices cracking, laughter spilling over, free and ridiculous and alive. Love exists in the way your 12-year-old brother gets overprotective of you, even though you’re eight years and four months older than him. Love exists in the way your best friend holds you as you cry – not asking questions, not offering advice, just holding space. And love exists in the way you watch your roommate and her girlfriend fall more in love with each other every day.
But love also exists in quieter places: the way morning light spills across your desk, the way you take a deep breath before starting your day, and the way you forgive yourself for not being as put-together as you once were. There’s love in resilience, in the decision to keep showing up, and in choosing softness when the world keeps giving you reasons not to be.
Sometimes, life doesn’t offer closure. Things happen, people leave, chapters end, and we’re left with only questions. But love doesn’t ask for explanations. It just keeps showing up, over and over again, reminding you that even in uncertainty, you’re surrounded by something worth holding onto.
Perhaps that’s what I’ve realized – I never truly lost my words. They were simply waiting for me to look around and see that every act of love, every small kindness, and every gentle moment were already a story worth telling. Writing has always been my greatest strength, and for a while, I thought it had been taken from me. In due time, love softly and patiently gave it back to me in all the ways I almost missed.