I’m only interested in the love that stays. In the kind of love that isn’t looking for a single moment in time, a dot on the map of this life, but a road that winds and turns with every passing day, a route we can carve through mountains and seasons and broken tires and sleepy eyes.

I’m only interested in the love that continues. In the kind of love that puts gas in the car when we’re running on empty, a love that pushes through mud and rain and even when the map leads us astray, finds a way to bring us back home.

I’m only interested in the love that believes. In the kind of love that trusts one another when the GPS runs out, when the map gets worn, when the street lights fade and we’re guided by the stars and the warmth of our hands in one another’s. In the kind of love that knows our connection is real and dependable and strong, whatever circumstance.

I’m only interested in the love that endures. In the kind of love that only builds in time, finding backroads when the highways are closed, gravel when the dirt is too thick, sidewalks for our tired feet when we can no longer trust the machine beneath us to drive us where we want to go.

I’m only interested in the love that is vulnerable. In the kind of love that knows we’re imperfect and flawed and fearful, and yet, opens to one another again and again. The kind of love that rolls the windows down and lets the sun and wind and rain in. That lets each other come closer, even when we’re hurting or scared or weak. That knows our connection is wild and beautiful, and does whatever is in our power to strengthen, rather than shy away.

I’m only interested in the love that is permanent. In the kind of love that knows there are other paths, other routes, and exit signs at every turn, and yet, stays on the path, trusts the road ahead.

The kind of love that does not drive away, but pushes on until the path becomes familiar and beautiful. The kind of love that builds rather than breaks, that takes this little car of ours on an adventure—our travels becoming our story—our feet to the gas and the future open and endless.

Marisa Donnelly is a poet and author of the book, Somewhere on a Highway, available here.