A Love That Moves Like Water
There is love, and then there is this.
Love that is not just spoken, but lived. Love that is not only present in whispered words and lingering glances but in motion, in action, in the everyday miracle of being chosen over and over again. His love is in the way he looks at me, in the way he listens, in the way he makes me feel like the most incredible woman on the face of this earth.
To be loved by him is to exist in a world that is softer, safer, stronger. He is not just the man I wake up to—he is the force that lifts me when I don’t even realize I need lifting. He is warmth on a cold morning, the steadiness in an unsteady world, the place I land when everything else feels too much. His love is all around me, woven into the fabric of my life, stitched into the quiet moments as much as the loud ones.
He listens—not just to my words, but to my heart, to the spaces between the things I say. He hears me in a way no one ever has, and I don’t think he even realizes how rare and beautiful that is. To be listened to with the kind of care that says, You matter. Your thoughts matter. Your dreams, your fears, your endless tangents about whatever’s currently living in your head—they all matter.
His love is never passive. It is a constant, a pulse, a certainty. It does not waver. It does not hesitate. It is hands reaching for me even in sleep, the weight of his arm across my waist, the quiet assurance of his breath against my skin. It is the unwavering belief that I am worth loving—not just in my best moments, but in the messiest, the hardest, the most unfiltered versions of myself.
And yes, I’d be a liar if I didn’t admit how absolutely breathtaking he is. How his presence alone makes my body hum, how my breath catches when his fingers trace my skin, how the chemistry between us is something beyond explanation. We fit—completely, perfectly. His hands know me like they were made for me, his mouth, his touch, every movement speaking a language we created together. But what makes it everything is the way he cares—not just about desire, but about me. About my pleasure, about my experience, about making love an act of devotion, of connection, of deep, consuming joy.
This love is not just something we have. It is something we do. Every day, in every way. In the way he makes me laugh when I need it most. In the way he reaches for me across a room like he just has to touch me. In the way he never lets me forget that I am cherished beyond words.
To be loved by him is to know what it means to be truly, entirely seen. And I will spend every day of my life loving him back.
Peace, Love, and Inspiration,
~Britt Wolfe
