The Quiet Craft of Loving

Begin with this.

Love does not fall from the sky.

It is made by human will.

Two people collide through accident.

They remain because neither leaves.

They endure because both decide to stay.

Step one.

Find the person whose presence does not drain you.

The one before whom you do not perform.

The one who sees you tired, irritated, unguarded, and stays.

Familiar ground holds longer than fire.

Flames impress. Ground sustains.

Choose ground.

Step two.

Risk exposure.

Tell them something that could scare them off.

A flaw. A failure. A piece of history that still aches.

Offer enough truth that they are free to walk.

Then watch.

If they stay without drama,

if they step closer instead of retreating,

keep going.

Trust grows where fear survives daylight.

Step three.

Choose them in ordinary hours.

Desire lives easily at 2am.

Creation happens in daylight,

when work ran long,

dishes wait in the sink,

and someone forgot groceries again.

Sit together anyway.

Eat whatever exists anyway.

Laugh when nothing impressive happens.

Say I love you because you choose to say it.

Say it again tomorrow.

Feelings grow from repetition.

What you practice becomes real.

What you repeat becomes bond.

One morning arrives quietly.

No fireworks. No drama. Just coffee and schedules.

Good.

Love survives in routine.

Shared days grow roots.

Roots hold when storms arrive.

No destiny intervenes.

No rescue comes.

There is only you,

the person across the table,

and the choice both of you make again tomorrow.