Writers 
"The Kind of Love That Waits"
I don’t want the kind of love
that burns fast and leaves smoke.
I want the kind that waits
at the bus stop in the rain,
holding half an umbrella
like it’s a promise.
I want the kind of love
that notices I’m tired
before I say the word.
That brings akara on a Tuesday
because night shifts are hungry.
That reads on the bus
so I won’t feel alone
with my thoughts.
I don’t need grand gestures.
No roses delivered to my office.
No speeches under fireworks.
Give me the quiet things.
The _“did you get home safe?”_ at 11pm.
The way you save me a seat
without me asking.
The way you learn my coffee order
and remember I take no sugar.
Love,
let’s be the people
who miss one bus on purpose.
Who choose the long walk home
because talking to you
feels like arriving.
Let’s be the ones
who show up in hospitals
with bad jokes and good hands.
Who sit through cast and crutches
and still say _“my treat”_
when you can barely stand.
I want the kind of love
that is not loud,
but is consistent.
That doesn’t ask me to be smaller
to fit into its plans.
That makes space on the bench
and says _“sit awhile,
the world can wait.”_
If we fight,
let’s fight fair.
And then let’s make up
with groundnuts and forgiveness.
If we’re apart,
let’s be the text at 10pm:
_“Thinking of you.
No pressure to reply.”_
Because the truth is,
I am not looking for perfect.
I am looking for present.
For the person who chooses me
on ordinary Wednesdays.
On traffic days.
On tired days.
On _“my laptop is at 7%”_ days.
So here’s my vow,
not on a mountain,
but on the 7pm bus:
I will see you.
I will stay.
I will hold half the umbrella.
And I will wait
until you’re ready
to walk me home.
That is the kind of love
I’m asking for.
The kind that sits.
The kind that stays.
The kind that feels like home
even when we’re still on the way.
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