Pure Love: A Light That Lingers

Have you ever felt a moment so bright it burned through every shadow you’ve ever carried? I remember standing on a cliffside once, the ocean below roaring like it was trying to tell me something. The sun was setting, painting the world in gold, and for a second, I swear I felt love—not the messy, human kind, but something pure, like a beam of light piercing straight through my chest. It’s that kind of love I’m chasing here, the kind that feels like it could save you.

There’s this… radiance, you know? When love hits you like that, it’s not just a feeling—it’s a force. Like twelve thousand rays of sunlight pouring through you, each one whispering truths you didn’t know you needed. I think of my grandmother’s old mirror, the one with the chipped edges, catching the morning light in her kitchen. That’s what this love feels like—sharp, warm, a little imperfect, but so alive. It’s not soft or gentle, but fierce, like a blade honed by wit, cutting away loneliness with every glint.

I’ve thrown myself at love like that before. Laid it all bare, heart pounding, tears streaming—not from sadness, but from relief. Like the day I sat on my porch, watching the neighbour's dog chase its tail, and realized I wasn’t alone anymore. That kind of love kills the quiet ache, doesn’t it? It’s a sacrifice, but the good kind, where you give up the weight of being alone and find something brighter at someone’s feet.

And oh, those rays—they don’t just shine, they dance. Born from some sacred place, they wrap around you like a summer afternoon, warm and endless. I’m terrified of losing that light, of being left in the dark, groping for something I can’t name. Haven’t you ever begged someone to stay, even just in your heart, because the thought of their absence feels like a theft?

A single breath from them, a glance, a flutter of lashes—it’s enough to cool the fever in your soul. I promise, I’d stay true, chasing their light through every last chance, every half-remembered dream. Like that time I found an old love letter in a book, the ink faded but the words still heavy with hope. It’s the kind of promise you make with your whole being, even if you stumble sometimes.

I’m not perfect at this. I listen, I swear I do, but following through? That’s where I trip, where my courage falters. I’d never mean to hurt them, never want their heart to catch or break. But love like this—it asks for everything, and I’m still learning how to give it. Have you ever felt like you’re trying so hard to get it right, but the steps keep slipping?

All I’ve got is this heart, these words, spilling out like water from a fountain that never runs dry. If they ever doubt me, I’ll keep speaking, keep offering truths that heal, that mend. Like sitting by a campfire, watching the embers glow, and knowing the warmth will carry you through the night. That’s my gift—pure intention, wrapped in words