You see, to love someone is to hand them a map of your softest places. Your fears. Your midnight thoughts. The version of you that doesn't show up for interviews or first dates. And in return, they hand you their own trembling map. And then you both choose — every single day — not to weaponize what you've been shown.
Where it breaks is when one person stops exchanging. When one keeps giving maps, and the other burns them for warmth. When one offers tenderness, and the other offers a receipt. exchange love
That's the exchange. And it's the only kind of love worth the risk. You see, to love someone is to hand
So yes — love is an exchange. But not of goods. Of ghosts. Not of favors. Of forgiveness. Not of promises. Of small, unrecorded acts of I see you . The version of you that doesn't show up