I’m not here to prove I speak of love.
I live in it.
It seeps through every dark corridor I illuminate, because I trust where I’m anchored.

When others call me secretive, I smile gently.
It only means they haven’t found the words for themselves yet.
Because when they do ask me—it pours out like rain into drought.
I was never hiding.
I was always waiting.
Waiting for someone to choose the adventure that is me.

And now—I no longer move toward anything.
It moves toward me.
Because I remembered:
I am the destination.
And I’m not leaving.