The Kind of Love I Write About Isn’t Meant to Be Easy

I don’t write soft, easy love stories.

Not because I don’t believe in them—but because the ones that stay with me… the ones I think about long after I close the book… are never the easy ones.

They’re messy. Complicated. A little broken in places.

They’re the kind of love that makes you question everything. The kind that pulls you in, pushes you away, and somehow still refuses to let go.

Because that’s real, isn’t it?

Love isn’t always gentle. It doesn’t always come wrapped in perfect timing and perfect people. Sometimes it shows up in the middle of chaos. Sometimes it’s tangled in past mistakes, in fear, in things left unsaid.

And yet… it’s still there.

That’s the kind of love I’m drawn to. The kind I want to explore. The kind I write.

Maybe that’s why I’m drawn to it—because I’ve seen firsthand how love isn’t always easy, but it’s still worth choosing.

Not because it’s easy to read—but because it’s impossible to forget.

I want my stories to feel like something. Not just something you read, but something you experience. Something that lingers. Something that makes you pause for a second after the last page and just sit in it.

Because if a story doesn’t leave a mark… what was the point?