Love is a battlefield, a journey across tumultuous seas where joy and pain rise and fall like waves. 

In the quiet moments of dawn, when Sandman has people wrapped in the soft embrace of sleep and where streets are at their most serene state, I walk through the stillness. 

I start to wonder, Have you ever stood at the edge of your own storm, questioning whether the love you seek is worth the risk? 

The streets seem to echo my thoughts, and I trace back the paths that love has carved into my soul. 

Every interaction I have with people replays in my mind, like a broken projector rapidly flickering a long film strip. Parents, siblings, cousins, friends, strangers—all kinds of people have cast their dye onto the canvas of my soul. 

Memories with them have made me understand that to love—truly love—is to summon a courage that often feels insurmountable. 

As past feelings wash over me, I find my fingers instinctively tracing the contours of my dearest ring, rolling it around and following a silent rhythm along my finger. A habit I picked up during my most anxious moments, a reminder of the times I held on too tightly to things I should have let go.

I remember the first time I dared to open my heart. I was still in elementary school, perhaps too young to understand the weight of what I felt.

The chirping of birds was nothing compared to the beating of my heart as I spilled words I never thought I would. They showed a gentle smile that did not quite match the pity in their gaze and softly replied, “Your sister is the one I have a crush on.” 

A surge of emotions swept through my soul. I pretended not to be hurt and walked away, my chest akin to a quiet pool—both empty and full. 

That memory still ripples within me. It was at that moment that I realized love is for those brave enough to leap into the unknown, fully embracing the uncertainty that comes with baring one’s soul and accepting another. Yet love doesn’t always bloom when you expect it to.

Streets change and the calm remains undisturbed as I walk further into the night, reflecting on a different kind of love, one where I was always pulled around by a current I couldn’t fight.

We spent mornings running through the field until our legs ached and nights dancing under the moonlight. Secrets were whispered to the night, our voices barely carrying over the sounds of the school choir. These are moments of joy, but they were followed by tempests of misunderstanding and hurt that tore us apart.

My words faltered as I voiced my truths and insecurities, breaking the very foundation of what we shared. As I let my love flow out as cerulean teardrops from my eyes, I saw it for what it was—a kind of courage, both necessary and heartbreaking. 

I had no choice but to submerge myself in the rivers and drown.

Even as I sank deeper into that sorrowful moment, I understood that while I lost myself in the currents, it also gave me an opportunity to drift back to my own shore and meet my shipwrecked soul.

Streetlights flicker overhead, and I keep walking, the rhythm of my steps steadying me. I think of the friends with whom I shared the warmth of coffee, the family karaoke nights where laughter filled the air, the late-night drives where the silence was comfortable and healing. 

Love isn’t always in grand gestures or farewells that tear at the soul. It lives in these quiet moments that hold us steady when we feel adrift.

As the dawn’s golden brushstroke paints the sky, I take a deep breath. The wounds remain, but no longer weigh me down. Love, I’ve learned, isn’t about avoiding fear or pain. It’s about stepping into the unknown despite them—to dare to face the depths of one’s heart and find solace in both the ecstasy and agony of genuine affection.

So, kind stranger, if you ever wander around and find yourself your own river, I hope you stop walking, take a deep breath, and dive into the blue waters. For it may be that what you are looking for is hidden beneath the surface, waiting to be uncovered.