I used to write stories about love
quietly, like it belonged to someone else.
But it's nothing like my stories.
It's messy and imperfect,
mistakes on every page.
The kind of love that refuses to let
us stay the same.
That presses on our wounds until
we learn to heal.
Choosing each other again, and again
even when it's hard.
And somewhere between all the crossed-out
lines and the pages I never planned
I realized I'm not writing about love anymore
I'm living it.

@lenakarla
art: Hilma Aft Klint