When I fall in love again, I hope it feels like coming home after a long winter. I hope I live quietly in their prayer and rest softly in the corners of their thoughts. I hope I'll be tucked away in their loudest wishes and their most earnest wants. I hope I'm the reason behind their absentminded smiles — the one they think of when the light slants just right through the window, when their favourite song plays on a slow Sunday morning. I hope I'll appear in their dreams, softly, often, like a cherished memory they return to when the world feels heavy.

I hope that when I look back, I'll find someone walking a few steps behind, following intently, carefully, steadily, trying to learn the rhythm of my pace. I hope that on nights when the silence wraps too tight, and the world feels too cold, I won't have to shiver alone. I hope there are arms that open without question, a chest to lean into, a hand that finds mine in the dark, a voice that knows how to speak calm into the chaos.

I hope it stays when I'm not shining, when the sparkle fades, and all that remains is just me: tired and trying. I hope it's the kind of love that doesn't flinch when I falter. The kind that stays when I am quiet, when I am clumsy with my words, when I forget how to be soft. I hope it sees me on the days I can barely lift my head, when I am anything but golden, and still can't stop seeing… still wants to trace my shadows with the same care it gives my light.

I hope someone looks at me like I am a sunrise they've waited their whole life for — not for how I rise, but for how I glow, even in my stillness. I hope my quiet speaks to them, and my laughter sounds like music they never want to forget. I hope they learn my scars like poetry, and love me not in spite of them, but because of the stories they tell. I hope they don't need me to be perfect to be worthy. I hope I don't need to shine to be held.

And in the sacred corners of that love, I want to be worshipped, not in grand gestures, but in soft, reverent ways. In the way they listen to me when I don't speak, in how their eyes search for mine in a crowded room. I want to be adored without condition, chosen without hesitation, a kind of devotion that doesn't shift with the seasons, that sees me as a universe to explore, not a puzzle to solve.

And when I fall, because I will, I hope they're there. Not just to catch me, but to kneel beside me at the altar of my suffering, and wait until I can stand again.

I hope my joy feels like their home. I hope my tears are met with hands that don't falter. I hope laughter comes easy, and silence feels safe.

Above all, I hope I won't have to beg for it to be real this time. This time, I want a love that lingers. A love that grows roots. A love that whispers, "You don't have to earn this. I'm already here." That love will arrive ready, not to fix me, but to grow with me.