When Love Rings the Doorbell

Love showed up at my door today,
not with roses or a marching band,
but like the ocean—
slow, tidal, a little dangerous—
the kind of wave that knows
exactly how to touch the shore.

I almost didn’t answer.
Not because I was scared,
but because my hair was in a messy bun,
and I was wearing that one shirt
with the bleach stain shaped like Florida.

But love doesn’t care about bleach stains
or that I eat strawberries
the way some people kiss—
slow, messy, sweet enough to close my eyes.
Love cares that I waited.
That I didn’t let “almost” touch my skin too long.

It leaned against the doorframe,
eyes steady, smile like a tide pulling me in.
I felt my guard slip—
vulnerability is just seduction in its truest form,
the bare soul saying, come closer.

And intimacy?
It’s the way someone’s gaze lingers
as if memorizing the curve of your breath,
the way their laughter brushes against you
like warm water at midnight.

So I opened the door.
Not because I was desperate,
but because love—real love—
has a way of arriving like the sea,
kissing the edges of everything you thought
you’d have to protect forever–

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