So often we find ourselves trying to convince each other that love is the strongest force of all. That the existence of love, itself, would overpower anything else, On the contrary, the truth is, love is by far, the most fragile insubstantial force of life. The actuality of love itself is not impregnable. It acquires every attribute of strength from the two people it is shared between. It is merely the word that most people use to interpret the resilience of the two combined;
their willingness to withstand anything side by side, relentlessly;
their ability to be each other’s ground to hold, shoulder to lean on;
being each other’s clarity when all things blur; Each other’s home, personified;
their persistence to contain each other’s darkness and reflect each other’s light;
their determination to draw and carve their own path by themselves;
And simply being each other’s truth in a world of lies.
I think of you when people talk about love. When they describe how pain and beauty collide; when they wonder how something, so mad, be so clear. I think of how you made a thousand suns burn inside me and shortly after, a thousand oceans drowning me in. And I’d end up thinking that I never had any say in what love did to me, and whether I liked it or not, the pain had to come along with something so powerful and overwhelming.