If Love Is My Purpose
Some days it feels as though yearning is all my soul will accomplish. It yearns for time to turn back, stand still, fast forward and shatter all in the same week. It yearns for the chance to be anywhere, everywhere, and nowhere. It yearns for comfort. the divine oasis of a warm cottage in the depths of evergreen forests on a gray and gently storming day. It yearns for brightness. the taste of adventure among whipping winds in the sunrays of oceans vast. It yearns for the quiet of shelves stacked heavy with tales so winding that whispers are lost among the pages, minds led ever further down their paths. It yearns for the clammer of kitchens crammed with bowls on countertops, spoons vigorous and ovens warm in preparation of pastries split and laughs shared between loved ones gathered. This soul yearns so deeply that it spins dreams every night of possibility, romance, odyssey, friendship, and even disaster. This soul feels as though its always reaching, backward, inward, and forward. For the me I was, the me I am and the me I will be. Yearning so tangible I feel as though I could reach within and run my fingers along its fabric. Every fiber of this soul weaves all the stories that pour from me in droves. I create to satiate this yearning that was once a gift and since has become a driving force as strong and as touchable as the love it was forged beside. It knows not a single boundary or restriction. It lives in the air I breathe, it flows through me like the very blood in my veins. If love is my purpose, yearning is my familiar.
Author's Note:
This piece is not an ode to love, but to what blooms beside it.
It explores the quiet ache that threads through every act of creation, connection, and memory — the yearning that shapes us as surely as love sustains us. “If Love Is My Purpose” reflects the belief that longing is not absence, but presence in motion: the soul’s way of reaching toward all it cherishes, even when it’s out of reach.
To yearn is to live. To love is to give that yearning a name.






















