Childhood love is not loud.
It does not announce itself with promises or expectations.
It simply exists—soft, honest, and unafraid.
A child loves without measuring.
They share their favorite toy not because it is fair, but because it feels right.
They hold a friend's hand without asking why.
They forgive quickly, forgetting faster than adults ever can.
This love has no fear of loss.
No fear of judgment.
No fear of tomorrow.
In childhood, love is found in small things—
waiting for a friend after school,
saving the bigger piece of fruit for someone else,
smiling just because another child smiled first.
There is no ego in it.
No conditions.
No hidden meaning.
A child does not love to be loved back.
A child loves because the heart has not yet learned to hesitate.
As we grow older, love becomes complicated.
We attach rules to it.
We protect it with walls.
We burden it with expectations.
But childhood love is free.
It teaches us the truest form of connection—
that love does not need perfection,
only presence.
Perhaps the greatest tragedy of growing up
is not losing innocence,
but forgetting how naturally we once loved.
And perhaps the greatest wisdom
is remembering it.