Like A Lake In Summer: For The Kind Of Love That waits For You

it doesn’t crash in.
doesn’t drench you in its arrival
or knock you off your feet with urgency.

this kind of love waits—
quiet and wide as a lake in summer,
a hush in the midday heat,
stretching out like an invitation
that asks nothing of you
but your presence.

you begin at the edges,
dipping your toes
into the clarity of it,
testing the temperature
like a question you’re not sure you’re allowed to ask.
and it answers—
softly.

with ripples that reach for you
but never pull,
with a stillness that says,
you can come in as slow as you need.

so you wade.
ankles first.
then calves.
then knees,
until it touches the small curve of your back
and you exhale a breath
you didn’t know you were holding.

you forget the weight you carried in.
because here,
in this water,
everything floats.

it doesn’t ask you to dive.
doesn’t demand your trust all at once.
it just holds you
exactly where you are.

this love knows patience.
it knows you’ll come deeper when you’re ready.
it knows the sun will warm your shoulders
and the ripples will sing you home.

and when you’re waist-deep in wonder,
in comfort,
in peace,
you realise:
this is what it means
to be loved
without fear.

not all at once.
but fully.
like water that welcomes you
inch by inch,
until you forget where you end
and it begins.

and suddenly—
you are not standing in love.
you are floating in it.
weightless.
held.
home.