I want a warm love. When someone hides their tears it’s sweet to look aside, but when they are open with their hearts, exposed and suffering, just being present can be warmth enough. Being present doesn’t look like sitting in the same room, idle, and it doesn’t have to be fawning, attentive, even; but acknowledgment. I want a love that says I see you, I hear you, without my own machinations or implications or assumptions being painted over your face and soul. I don’t want to replace your soul with someone else’s or use you to wring out closure from my own hurt, but you. I want you.

I want a warm love that feels like sunshine, like the change in weather when it’s been too hot or too cold and finally a breeze or frost comes to shake things up. A love that feels like relief and excitement.

I want a warm love that tastes like sitting on a kitchen counter and someone puts their fingers in your mouth to show off what they’re cooking.

I want a love that eases the knot between my shoulders blades that feels like a vault door being locked tighter and tighter, closing off a cold room in my ribs.

I want a love that doesn’t ignore. Or prioritize. Or shame.

I want a love that doesn’t force me to change size, to take up less space, to shrink and quiet like a mouse; I want a warm love that feels big and growing.