When someone asked me what real love is, paused for a moment, then sottly said, "Love is waiting." Not the kind of waiting that's passive or unsure, but the kind that's patient, steady, and full of quiet strength. It's standing by someone's side through their storms, not rushing their healing or demanding answers. It's the way your heart holds space for someone, even when they're distant, even when they're figuring themselves out. Real love doesn't push-it stays, it listens, and it waits, not because it has to, but because it chooses to. Love is waiting when the world tells you to move on. It's believing in someone's return, in better days, in the soft hope that what's meant for you will come in its time. It's the silence filled with faith, the kind of faith that says, " see you, even when you're not ready to be seen. I'll be here." Because sometimes, love isn't loud or grand or obvious. Sometimes, it's just a quiet presence that waits-not to be needed, but to be ready when it is.