Love is one of the most overused words and yet I can never fully wrap my mind around it or even have enough of it to the point of self-sacrifice and insanity. Kahlil Gibran described it best:
“When love beckons to you, follow
him,
Though his ways are hard and steep.
And when his wings enfold you, yield
to him,
Though the sword hidden among his
pinions may wound you.
And when he speaks to you, believe
in him,
Though his voice may shatter your
dreams
as the north wind lays waste the
garden.
For even as love crowns you so shall
he crucify you.
Even as he is for your growth so is
he for your pruning.
Even as he ascends to your height
and caresses your tenderest branches
that quiver in the sun,
So shall he descend to your roots and
shake them in their clinging to the earth.”
Love and pain are inseparable. I can’t have one without the other. Although pain makes it hard to listen, I always find myself at love's beck and call. The truth is I can never run away from love. I breathe it. I can’t live without it. It breaks me down, yet it builds me up. It remains an enigma. It usually reveals itself in the most peculiar place and at the most inopportune time. Either the opulence or lack of it is not a point of contention. It’s just the way love is, immeasurable, omnipresent, and indefinitely existent.
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