Owning our story can be hard but not nearly as difficult as spending our lives running from it. Embracing our vulnerabilities is risky but not nearly as dangerous as giving up on love and belonging and joy—the experiences that make us the most vulnerable. Only when we are brave enough to explore the darkness will we discover the infinite power of our light.
Life will break you. Nobody can protect you from that, and living alone won’t either, for solitude will also break you with its yearning. You have to love. You have to feel. It is the reason you are here on earth. You are here to risk your heart. You are here to be swallowed up. And when it happens that you are broken, or betrayed, or left, or hurt, or death brushes near, let yourself sit by an apple tree and listen to the apples falling all around you in heaps, wasting their sweetness. Tell yourself you tasted as many as you could.
Anyone can love a thing because. That’s as easy as putting a penny in your pocket.
But to love something despite. To know the flaws and love them too. That is rare and pure and perfect.
You don’t fall in love with someone because it’s convenient.
Love was never meant to be easy, people fight, people make mistakes, people walk out and then decide to run back. When it comes to real love there is no limit to what you would do for one another. To protect, to provide, to profess. It’s a lot harder to stay together than to fall apart, but the outcome of love is worth every second of it.
Real love doesn’t meet you at your best.
It meets you in your mess.
The measure of hell you’re able to endure is the measure of your love.
Love is not to be proven or measured… It exists, and that is enough.
It’s all quite simple really: the more hate you hold in your heart, the less room there is for love.