Mutual love, as I understand it now, is not intensity or reassurance. It’s not words offered in moments of comfort, nor closeness that appears without follow-through. Mutual love is quieter and more consistent than that.
It looks like presence that doesn’t disappear when things become uncomfortable. It looks like curiosity that draws closer rather than pulling away. It looks like care that adjusts when something hurts, not care that asks the other person to endure.
Mutual love allows both people to relax. There is room to speak honestly without fear of defensiveness. There is safety in knowing that what is said will be held with respect and reflected in action, even when change takes time.
For me, love is not something to be proven through endurance. It is something tended together — patiently, imperfectly, and with intention. I’m interested in partnership where affection and responsibility move in the same direction, where loyalty is lived rather than implied.
This is not a demand, and it’s not a standard imposed on anyone else. It’s simply the shape of love I’m open to now — one that meets me where I stand, as I am, and walks forward with me.

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