As snow drifts slowly

past my bedroom window,

and soft music lingers in the air

like a lover’s whisper,

the world feels closer somehow —

warmer in its quiet.

And in that hush

my heart begins to wander

into the tender ache of wondering

what it would feel like

to be loved

without hesitation,

without apology.

A love that doesn’t hold back,

that doesn’t measure or retreat,

that reaches for you

like warmth in winter —

instinctively.

The way we fall in love with snow

without even realizing it.

The way it steals our breath

when the sun kisses it just right,

turning every flake

into something sacred,

something that glows.

It doesn’t try to be beautiful —

it simply is.

And we adore it anyway.

I imagine a love like that.

One that sees every fragile piece of me

resting softly in the light

and calls it wonder.

A love that looks at my quiet places

and doesn’t turn away,

but lingers there —

gentle, unafraid,

enchanted.

To be loved

like sunlight loves snow:

tenderly,

patiently,

as if touching something rare.

Not to change it.

Not to rush it away.

Just to hold it in golden light

until it sparkles

like it was always meant to.