Why I Still Believe in Love
Love is not cancelled
because life is hard.
Romance is not erased
by bills, by noise,
by mornings that arrive too early
and nights that last too long.
Joy does not expire
because responsibility moved in
and took up space on the couch.
I still believe
in laughter shared over warm food,
in hands brushing accidentally on purpose,
in music playing low
while the world waits outside the door.
I still believe
in choosing softness
without becoming fragile,
in desire without shame,
in rest that doesn’t need permission.
I have carried much.
I have learned to be strong
in rooms that never asked
how heavy things felt.
But strength was never meant
to replace love.
Hope is not foolish.
Tenderness is not naive.
Wanting companionship
is not a weakness of will.
It is human.
So even now —
while I am building, surviving,
counting carefully,
and dreaming quietly —
I leave a space open.
Not for fantasy.
For possibility.
Because love is not cancelled
when life is difficult.
It is simply waiting
for gentleness to return home.
Why I Still Believe in Love
This poem isn’t about searching for love.
It’s about refusing to let hardship turn me cynical.
When life becomes heavy — financially, emotionally, socially — it’s easy to treat romance, joy, and intimacy as childish luxuries.
I don’t believe they are.
I believe love is not something we earn after survival.
It’s something that reminds us why survival matters at all.
This poem is a marker in time — proof that even while carrying responsibility, I did not close my heart.
I kept it safe.