This is perhaps the deepest form of love.
Not admiration, not passion, not idealization...
But acceptance.
When they don't try to change you. They don't mold you "to suit themselves." They don't tell you what you should be.
When they simply love you. With all your shadows and light.

Love as acceptance is when he's not afraid of your difficult days.
When he doesn't turn away when you're vulnerable, tired, or capricious.
When he doesn't avoid the conversation, even if you speak through tears.
When he stays, hugs, and whispers:
— I'm here. I'm near. Everything is fine. You can be whoever you want.

This is love in which you can breathe.
Where you don't need to hide. Where you can be real: with disheveled thoughts, with childhood fears, with doubts, with dreams that have not yet come true.
This is when he doesn't save you, but walks next to you.
Doesn't correct you — but understands.
He doesn't judge, but feels.

It seems to me that true closeness is born precisely in acceptance.
When he sees you completely... and stays.
And you allow yourself to be open, because you know: here you will not be hurt, here you are loved.

I dream of such love.
Where you can drop your armor.
Where you can be weak - and know that this will not push away.
Where my "imperfect" is also loved.

And do you know how to accept?
Could you love not for the external shine, but for the inner light that sometimes flickers?
I believe that such love exists.
Deep. Quiet. Real.
And maybe it begins with these lines.