Love stories drift through our lives like whispers on the wind—soft, barely tangible, offering a brief escape from the relentless grip of uncertainty and despair. They are the faintest glimmers of hope, delicate threads that, for a moment, make the overwhelming feel bearable. Do you remember that kind of intense feeling - so much aliveness, yet, a little bit of death. 

Yet, we often smother them with our needs especially unaware needs that we don't even know we have, not to mention can we admit and express them. We rush to mold them into something concrete, demanding answers from what is still unfolding. We press for meaning in a world where meaning is often elusive.

Where is this going? What does it mean?

We burden these fragile moments with our own desires: I want. I demand. I expect. And then we add the heaviest weight of all: Forever.

But perhaps love is not meant to be captured or understood. Most love stories are fleeting connections, beautiful in their simplicity. They are whispers of possibility, suspended in time, untouched by the demands of our structured and perhaps, growing-apart lives. They are secret, not because they should be hidden, but because they are too fragile and demand our most gentle protection. 

These stories feel like stepping off the edge of a cliff, the exhilaration of falling without knowing if you’ll ever land. They don’t need a future because they exist beyond our understanding of time.

The most powerful love stories defy reason. They are wild, chaotic, and impossibly alive. They keep you up at night, lost in thoughts that have no resolution, pulling you into a world where imagination reigns supreme. They remind you of the freedom that once seemed so attainable, before life became so tangled in expectations and demands.

Because, life, at times, is full of twists, turns, and surprises; it can be insanely random. So random.

And suddenly, you consider retreating to a distant place, embracing a spirituality you’ve long forgotten. But wait. Give these stories space to breathe. Don’t rush to define them or fit them into neat boxes. Let them exist in the uncertainty, in the possibility.

Let them simply be.

(Because, like most experiences - these, too, shall pass.)