I grew up believing in signs. After my father passed away, I searched for little messages from the universe that reminded me love still existed. Sometimes it was a feather resting in the most unexpected place. Sometimes it was a song that played on the radio at just the right moment. Those signs gave me comfort. They made me feel that even in loss, love could still reach me.
As the years passed, I learned how to carry responsibility, how to work hard, and how to keep myself together when everything around me seemed uncertain. On the outside, people see me as a strong woman—focused, capable, independent. But what they don’t see is the part of me that feels empty when I come home at night. What they don’t see is the longing to be held, to be understood, to be chosen.
I’ve been through heartbreaks. I’ve tried to convince myself that maybe I don’t need anyone—that maybe being on my own is enough. But deep down, I know it isn’t true. I don’t need perfection, I don’t need fairy tales. What I want is real human connection. A hand to hold when the nights feel long. A heart that listens when mine feels heavy. A partner who sees my flaws, my tiredness, my scars, and still chooses me anyway.
And so I find myself searching again. Not for dimes, not for feathers, but for love. For someone who will look at me and see more than the woman who works too hard and carries too much. For someone who wants to build a life together—whether it’s marriage, or simply a bond strong enough to feel like home.
Sometimes I imagine love will come quietly, like one of those signs I used to look for. A glance that lingers a second too long. A voice that feels familiar even when I’ve just heard it for the first time. A smile that makes me stop searching, because suddenly I know. I’m ready now. Ready to notice it when it appears. Ready to give my heart again, even if it means risking the pain.
Because at the end of the day, love is the only sign I still believe in.
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