Love is not a goal. It is not a destination to be planned or a future to be mapped out with precision. Love, real love—the kind that lingers in our hearts long after it has passed—is lived in the moment. It is the sum of fleeting seconds, the weight of an embrace, the echo of laughter shared over an ordinary meal.
This is why the wisest among us do not chase it with a script in hand. The moment love becomes a goal, something to be acquired or secured, it tightens like a knot instead of flowing freely. Women—true women, the kind we dream of, the kind who carry both fire and grace—do not love under pressure. They love when they are free to. When they are at ease. When they feel safe enough to exist in a moment without the burden of expectations.
Everyone knows there is risk. Everyone knows life is harsh, that love is imperfect, fleeting, sometimes lost before it even begins. So we do not speak of it too seriously. Not because we deceive ourselves, but because we choose to honor the beauty of now rather than the uncertainty of tomorrow. It is a quiet agreement between lovers—to enjoy what is, without demanding what will be. In this way, we let life take what it will from us without overanalyzing, without mourning what has not yet been lost. We simply are.
She will come. She knows it may not work. But in the moment, neither of you think of that, because you are not worrying. You are not trying to steer the future. You are simply living. And in that space, you create something real—not built on expectation, but on how beautiful she was to you in that moment, how joyful she made you feel.
A friend of mine, a model and actress, once said to me in a foreign language class, "time is relative. Sometimes six fleeting hours with a wonderful person—a woman who stirs something deep within you—is worth more than thirty years with the 'perfect match' we think we were waiting for, but who was really just a projection of our own desires. Let go of what is not yours to control so you don't miss the here right now that you can."
She was right. Too many of us ruin love before it begins by measuring it, by placing conditions on it, by planning its trajectory. But the truth is, love cannot be willed into permanence. If it is meant to be more, that is not for anyone to decide. It will be. Or it won’t. But no amount of overthinking can force love into existence or keep it from slipping through our fingers when it is meant to go.
I think of all the things I could share with someone, and this is the lesson I wish more people understood. I learned it too late—at 35. Before then, I was trapped in my mind, caught up in the prison of what should be instead of what was. I missed so much. I lived looking too far ahead, mistaking planning for love, security for passion.
Free yourself from it. Live now. Not recklessly, not irresponsibly, but with a heart unburdened by expectation. Let romance exist in its own time, as it is meant to. And if you do, you will become so magnetic, so irresistibly present, that she will lift you up with her. Not because you asked her to, not because you made promises about the future, but because you gave her something far more precious—the freedom to fall into you without fear.
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