Love is a fire, not because it burns, but because it must be built. A spark is easy. Anyone can strike one. It’s the tending that tells the truth. You don’t start with a log. You start with what’s small paper, twigs, the fragile things that catch first. You stay close. You breathe carefully. You learn when to feed it, when to step back. Too much closeness smothers. Too much distance goes cold. Even flame needs air. Love asks for time, not intensity. For patience, not gasoline. The brightest fires often die first. What lasts is quieter: hands warming, coffee cooling, a life shared without being consumed. Some fires scar us. Some teach us how to tend. Some show us what we were never given. Love does not promise forever. It offers a choice, again and again to stay, to care, to build. So choose your fire wisely. Choose what you’re willing to tend. That’s what love is about. By Jason Strickland