Why I write about Love

I’ve asked myself this question more than once.

And maybe you’re wondering too.

Why do I write about love so much?

Some days, it might seem out of place—too soft for a hard world. Too personal for the internet. Too much, even.

But here’s the truth:

I think we’ve forgotten how important love really is.

We’ve learned to move fast and judge faster.

We scroll past pain.

We clap back before we ever reach out.

We’ve gotten loud with our opinions and quiet with our compassion.

And I think we’re starving for love.

Not the flashy, photo-ready kind.

The kind that stays. The kind that sees you. The kind that shows up.

I’ve seen love in unexpected places.

In a cloudy-eyed rescue dog who barely knew me, yet chose to trust me anyway.

In the soft weight of a paw pressed gently against my leg after a long day.

In a quiet presence that says, I’ve got you, even when nothing is said out loud.

Love doesn’t always shout.

Sometimes it waits patiently by the door.

Sometimes it shows up with a broom.

Sometimes it forgives before it’s asked.

It’s not a one-size-fits-all thing.

We all give and receive it differently.

But one thing I’ve learned for sure:

Love is a verb.

It’s not just what we feel—it’s what we do.

It’s holding space. It’s staying present. It’s choosing to try again.

I don’t write about love because I’ve perfected it.

I write about it because I’ve needed it.

Because I’ve been the one held together by someone else’s kindness.

Because I’ve been loved when I didn’t know how to ask for it.

So, why do I write about love?

Because I know what it can do.

Because I’ve seen it heal what nothing else could.

I know—because love changed my life.

And maybe one day, I’ll share that story.