Uprooted

On the (almost) First Day of February

Here’s what I know about love:
It holds your hand, and you don’t need to ask it to.
I know it comes back, even when you lost it-it stills knows you.
It’s been sitting quiet for you, waiting til you are ready to receive it again.
I don’t know what it looks like, but I do know how it should feel after a fight.
It’s not a turned back, it’s an open chest.
Even when it’s humiliating.
Because in love all things, even the things we are ashamed of, are welcome.
I know it can go months without talking.
Or years without seeing.
It can go miles and miles away.
And still be there.
If your heart is a cottage, love is the porch light.
I can find you because I see it glowing in the dark. 
And If chance is the front porch swing, then love is the faith to sit for a while, even if it’s late and we are tired. 
If trust is the path to your door, then love is the courage to step one stone at a time to where you are. 
If Love inspires me to ring the doorbell, will you open it up for me? Will you let me in?

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