Étouffée

Love is a slow simmer.

A quiet flame under a pot
That you’ve stirred a hundred times
That still boils despite watching it close.

Love is tasting the sauce,
Adjusting the heat,
Knowing when to add spice
And when to hold back.

It’s messy counters,
Burned fingers,
And starting over
Because it matters that much to you
For it to taste just right.

But it’s not always going to be perfect.

Sometimes you forget the salt.
Sometimes the timing’s off.

But love is also forgiving.
For there’s always another meal,
Another moment,
Another chance
To feed and be fed

So when you sit across from them,
Watching as they take that first bite,
Remember this:

Love just has to be warm.
And is better
When shared.