When the world is a battlefield, I promise you an open door. A soft place full of quiet. Two hands that cannot fix or save, but can ease. I promise compromises and adventure. Red lipstick ringing a glass, that glass full of tequila. Laughter that echoes and makes your sides ache. I promise fights and arguments without gloves, but without teeth. No names. No unnecessary knives, just the honesty of people butting heads and hashing it out. There’s no going to bed angry. There’s no going to bed apart.
Dinner will burn. Things will break. Money will get tight, and there will never be enough time. But everything works out, with enough heart and consideration. There will be days full of question marks and closets full of worry. But those are ghosts, and a little light can banish them. No house is perfect, but home is just a framework for everything you put inside it. Everything you carry in that cage in your chest.
Happiness is not always a choice. It’s a pursuit. It’s looking down the barrel of a gun and daring it to fire. It’s believing that you’re worth more than your lowest day and darkest moment, and baring your teeth at the fear. It’s letting the light in through the windows, even if the glass is dirty. Not everything has to be perfect, clean. Most of life isn’t. Most of life is ballet on a razor’s edge.
Sometimes, we are incapable of seeing ourselves. Our eyes are a broken mirror, our days too stuck on surviving. I will hold up a better mirror. I will hold up my heart. I will keep you from that pit of dogs you keep trying to throw yourself in.
You don’t ask for someone’s patience. It is freely given. That is love in small moments. Time. A way to sort out the shadows without abandoning the dark. Everything is a balance. But what is offered, without expectation, is an open hand. That is love. It is never a closed door, never an asking thing.