This is not a love story. It's the ruin you never saw coming- the kind that feels like worship and war in the same breath. It shatters, it rebuilds, it strips you bare until you don't know if you're saved or destroyed. What does it mean to be in love? What does it mean to love? And what do you call it when the only language you know is ruin? This isn't love. This is falling apart.

Do you know how to hold, and to be held? Do you know what it means to hold, and to be held? Some people unravel. Some try to run. Some hurt others. Some will falter. But there is always someone- who chooses to stay. To reach, to wait, until safety feels real. Until you feel safe. This is not about power. Not about who is strong or soft. This is about the choice to stay. To reach. To hold. And to be held.