When Love Eventually Sticks Around


I imagine it like all my favorite dreams rolled into one — including the ones where I screw up. Including the morning breath and messy hair, residual dark lipstick stains left on coffee mugs. A familiar hand rubbing the small of my back. Love is gentle like that. Doesn’t jolt me out of bed. Lets me slowly wake up instead.

I imagine it like a jug of water under a Texas sky. I can never get enough. Fills me up, but not to the point of being stuffed or tired. Feels sustainable. Satiates me. This love is an oasis, even in the midst of a desert.

I imagine it like laughter from bellies, you know? The big kind. Doubled over in hysterics. Howling. Hyenas full of giggles and ridiculous joy. Slips out every mouth. Can’t keep it under control. Just loud. And excited. This love, so enthusiastic.

I imagine it like poetry. Not poetry like this. Not trying hard. Not asking for attention. Not shouting at the moon and expecting it to say something back. Just honest. This love sticks around. This love loves right back.


isn’t it good to be

this sweet? look

at this field between us,

every dandelion

was a wish

that brought me

straight to you

Thought Catalog Logo Mark

✨ real(ly not) chill. poet. writer. mental health activist. mama shark. ✨

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