NurseSheGirl

October 19, 2026

She used to think that love was meant to race,
To steal her breath and set her heart ablaze.
That falling fast was proof of something true,
That love was measured by the things she’d do.

She gave her heart before she knew the hands,
Mistaking fleeting sparks for lasting plans.
And when the fire faded into night,
She learned that warmth and burning weren’t alike.

Then came a love she wanted to protect,
A tender bond she never would forget.
But hearts still bruised by yesterday’s mistakes
Can lose a love they never meant to break.

She learned that timing matters just as much,
That love can ache beneath a gentle touch.
That even when two hearts have something real,
Not every wound is ready yet to heal.

And so she stopped believing love must hurt,
That she must prove how much her heart was worth.
She’d spent too long confusing fear with fate,
For love worth having knows that it must wait.

Perhaps the truest love would not arrive
As she would surely struggle to survive.
Perhaps it wouldn’t sweep her off her feet,
But walk beside her at a steady beat.

It wouldn’t ask for promises too soon,
Or disappear beneath a changing moon.
It wouldn’t make her question where she stood,
Searching silence for any sign of good.

It wouldn’t need to hurry to be true,
Or make her feel there’s something she must do.
It would be patient, thoughtful, warm, and kind,
A love that gives her heart the space and time.

A love that shows intention through its ways,
Through little things repeated over days.
Not declarations whispered in the night,
But simple acts that make the future bright.

And she could let herself enjoy the start,
Without surrendering her entire heart.
No need to name forever in a kiss,
Or fear that moving slowly means she’ll miss.

For love that’s safe won’t ask her to be blind,
Or leave her own wants and needs behind.
It won’t demand she fall before she’s sure,
Or make uncertainty something to endure.

And if one day she finds herself in love,
She hopes it feels like all she’s dreaming of.
A hand that holds without the need to claim,
A steady warmth that doesn’t turn to flame.

She’s learning love is more than what we feel,
It’s showing up, it’s patience, it’s what’s real.
Perhaps the love she’s needed all along,
Is one that keeps her warm when nights grow long.