On Love Quietly- A February Series
Love between people is rarely simple and clean as we hope it to be.
Even when it’s real.
Even when it’s clearly mutual.
Even when it’s built with care.
Misunderstanding. They slip in quietly, unsuspecting and innocent. Conversations don’t land the way we mean them too. Silences that seem to stretch for miles longer than intended.
Loving someone doesn’t automatically mean suddenly we know everything is right or even that we know how to do everything right– it simply means we’re learning together in close proximity with another person.
That’s the kind of love I’ve been thinking about lately. The kind exists in the small ordinary moment, not masked by grand gestures–the moments we choose to stay present even when things aren’t perfectly matching up.
“Maybe love isn’t about getting it right. But actually about staying.”
Often it seems we’re taught to think of love as alignment–shared values, goals, timing, ETC. And yes, while those things are important, so are the things we tend not to talk as much about–the discomfort.
Listening when it’s easier to defend. Taking the pause instead of pulling away.
There’s an understated strength in staying curious about someone instead of deciding you already know everything about them.
Love between two people asks us to hold space for difference–not just with opinions or habits, but in how we feel, process and arrive at things.
And for many, that is unsettling. So it’s easier to love someone in theory, rather than to love them in the middle of misunderstandings.
But these moments– the awkward, unresolved moments are often where we can find love deepening–only if we let it.
We have this version of love that only exists when everything is calm and smooth sailing.
Then there’s the version of love that’s learned. The type that isn’t rushed into conclusions. It stays open long enough for understanding to show up – even if it’s slower to arrive.
It doesn’t mean staying in places that cause us harm. Gentleness, as mentioned last time, does include boundaries.
It includes knowing when staying is costing us too much. But also recognizing when the discomfort is the growing pains not a failure.
Sometimes love looks like choosing patience over certainty.
Sometimes it’s moving our ego aside and listening again.
Sometimes it’s not leaving the moment the story becomes complicated.
“Not every pause is a warning. Some are invitations.”
If you’ve found yourself feeling unsure in your relationships lately – wondering whether closeness is supposed to feel this fragile – I don’t think you’re doing it wrong. I think it can mean you’re paying attention.
Love between two people isn’t something we master. It’s something that takes practice. Slowly. Imperfectly. Together or apart.
And maybe if we can realize that–maybe that’s enough.
I’m grateful you’re a part of my Clawlings family!
More Soon,
Quill
