Dear Love,

What is love?

I’m not asking about what is you, who are you, or whatever it is related to those two questions just because I constantly call you ‘Love’.
I mean, I do love you and all, but, the definition itself sometimes makes me wondering, to the point where I spent my whole Sunday thinking about it.
Subconsciously thinking about it, of course, it’s been bugging me the whole day.

Let’s start with what you already knew.
It isn’t Disney fairy tale, with random prince charming, white horse and its knight, nor with happily-ever-after-forever-and-ever-and-ever caption.
It isn’t always filled with roses, chocolates, wine, fancy dates, trips, fun, excitement, or romance– no– we’ve been through this numerous times.
Sometimes, love is grand, and sometimes it’s not, to the point where you just want to drop it all and run away because you can’t imagine or just simply doesn’t want the rest of your life to be in that horrifying state.
True, sometimes it isn’t fun, but that doesn’t make it less important.
In fact, during the most difficult and trying times, to love and to continue to love, is actually the most important thing people can and have to do.

Now, before I continue, I know you might see me differently right now after what I’ve written in the previous posts about myself and all.
I know that you might be tired seeing me emphasizing this point about me being in a completely heartless state over and over and over again, up to the state where it looks like I really am proud and now gloating over it.
That’s not true.

I’m struggling with myself right now, and I clearly am not proud of this condition.

Back to the topic.
From a simple point of view, love is just truly seeing, and caring about another human being’s existence and welfare– it is wanting to be there for someone – you – to support them and help them grow– to make a difference in their life.
It is to share in and care about someone else’s happiness and struggles other than your own, and that means doing it even when it’s hard as hell.
Even, and especially, when you do not really want to.
Because, well, when everything in life is transient, it seems like love becomes the only thing that endures, it is the only thing that can endure life.
Because regardless of how successful you are, how educated, heeled, or rich you are– regardless of all your accomplishments and accolades and accoutrements, a life without love– without love for others, without loving others– this life of ours, it will always feel empty; always.

For, think about it, in the space of our inescapable mortality and certain death, when everything that is trivial falls away or melts away, we are left with love.
At the end of the day, at the end of it all, all we have is love, and all we have is each other, just look at what people would remember when their loved ones died.
Their moments with them, their memories with them, all in the name of love.
And that means, to miss love, to not realize it and act on it, is to miss the fullness, or even the richness of your entire existence in this world.
I even dare to say that, to have never loved is simply to have never lived.

But, there are some that argues that love is just not that, it’s more than feelings, it’s more of a choice– a commitment, a hard work.
And that is true, too.
Some people came to realize that planning to love someone– or choosing to love someone– is actually one of the most beautiful things about love.
It is said that real love is an unconditional commitment to an imperfect person.
Even if it’s about choice, just like what I wrote above, it’s still more than just some random, euphoric feeling we have towards another human being.
Real love is not easy, it’s nothing like infatuation.
True, no one falls in love by choice, it is by chance, but no one stays in love by chance, it is by work, and by choice, we have to work for it to get it.
And most importantly, no one falls out of love by chance, because it’s a choice.
Now we know that love isn’t always that beautiful, and now we know that we have a choice to love, and we have to commit to it and plan on it being a hard work, which brings us to the next question about love:

What makes the love real, then?

The lover ? The loved ones ?
Or the means by which love is conveyed ?

If you have seen the movie Her (2013) – which if you haven’t seen it (which I’m sure you haven’t) then you really should – then you should have known that what makes love real doesn’t stick to how you do things to a certain person in the name of love– it’s not that cheap.
It’s like, actions doesn’t really define anything, because actions are not really definite for every person that takes the certain action.
I mean, every person could do whatever it is they want, label it as an act in the name of love, and said that they did it because they were in love and all.
But, it’s always a matter of perspective, one person could perceive that another person doesn’t really do anything, but maybe, in that another person’s reality, that person is actually doing whatever it is that he/she could.

Personally? I do think what makes the love real is.. The lover.

Think about this example that came from my experience.
I wanted to buy Edward Gibbon’s Decline and Fall of The Roman Empire books, consists of 6 volumes, hardback, unabridged, and came in fancy boxes.
At first, I had a hard time deciding whether I should buy the books or not.
Not only that they are expensive ($300), I could be having a hard time if I do not have enough time to read all of those, especially with my workload.
As I was wondering and looking at the books in the online store, a particular co-worker came to me, and we had this short conversation that changed everything:


“What are those? Another books?”

“Expensive ones, and I’m thinking whether I should buy them or not.”
“These things are what usually made me wonder whether they are worthy enough to be bought and sit on my bookshelves, or they are just bunch of overpriced shits.”

“Well, it’s easy: Do you want it?”

“Apparently, I do.”

“Then just buy it.”
“That’s all the worth that you need, if you want it bad enough, then you should buy it. That might apply to every single thing that you want in this world.”

“As simple as that?”

He nodded.


That conversation changed my way of thinking and looking at things.
When it comes to decide something, all we have to ask is.. Ourselves, I guess.
It doesn’t matter how bad, mediocre, or how good the thing that we want is, the thing that matters is, are we going to regret choosing it later?
True, worthiness of something might be definite, it’s a quality, and we both know that it does tied to a certain thing, it always is.
But, at the end of the day, the power to choose something lies on us.

Same thing with love.
What makes love real for me is your quality, your kindness, your passion, your personality, your physical appearance, everything it is that you have in you.
But, you will always be a raw, unpolished Diamond if I didn’t decide to love you.
I alone decided that you’re worthy of my heart– of my love.
Love, it’s because of you that I made this love that I have for you real.

But it’s always me, it’s always me that decide whether you’re worth it or not.
Hence, that’s why I said that what makes love real resides in The Lover themselves.

When it comes to questions and thoughts about you, I always ask myself:
Are you someone that I can sit with in the darkness? Are you someone I can sit with in silence? Are you someone I can spend hours with doing nothing else but counting the distance between lightning and thunder?
Because life is more than a forever of picture perfect moments – it’s darkness, and silence and interludes in which I will need to hold my breath.
Forever with you should not feel like forever, it should feel like no time at all; it should feel like a blink of an eye– it should feel like an interlude between the lightning strike and a thunder.

And just like I always did, for now, I come up – and will always come up – with a simple answer that I have known since long time ago.
I wrote these things above and below before, and I’m going to write it again:

Yes. Yes, yes, and yes. A billion times yes.

Call me stupid, call me crazy, insane, madness, in whatever fashion that you want.
But I know that you will make it all worth it– you always will.





Dear Love,

I have been trying for a while to accurately describe the feeling that I have.
It’s one nagging feeling that is similar to loneliness, and, each time the feeling comes, it always feels like I am missing something important in my life.
Yet, I never come close enough.

You see, Love, the feeling is a tricky one– it is not as expressive as sadness is: it doesn’t gut you, or slice you open just like the way grief does.
This feeling works differently– it does not slap you in the face like anger or jealousy– it takes time penetrating your life.
If I may say, well, it’s like having a friend that you don’t particularly like.
You don’t even know how you and that person became friends, yet, it seems like that person have always been around, and you’re not sure why– you don’t even remember of the moment that person went from stranger to a contact in your phone.

This feeling– this special kind of loneliness, is just like that.
Just like an invader that moved so slowly, you didn’t even notice.

I guess it just sits there, like some bruise that’s close to being healed.
Sometimes you think it’s gone, because, if you stay distracted, plugged in, and never fully present, you might not feel the pain at all.
But a bruise is a bruise, if you touch it, you’ll wince.
You will be reminded that it is actually still there.
Honestly, I don’t even know if that feeling has to do with being alone.
Okay, that might amplify the feeling, but it’s not the root cause.

The feeling shows up when I forget myself; it’s present on the nights I feel like a stranger in my own body and wonder how long I have been on autopilot.
And, on nights like those, I usually ask myself:

“Am I missing her? Have I always been missing her like this?”

When it becomes too much, on the bad nights, I will look for immediate distractions, oh we are so good at that, us, humans, all of us.
We have figured out how to be so distracted all the time, to the point where we will numb ourselves with food, alcohol, games, or even superficial connections.
We will text, call, or even hangout with someone we shouldn’t.
Yet, on those nights, I will still hate admitting how ‘lonely’ I am.
It feels like a failure of sorts– my incapability of doing something.
Because this feeling, unlike sadness or anger, is harder to figure out.

Love, I do not know why I feel this why, nor do I know how to fix it.
But I know that the feeling does not go away if I just ignore it.
It sits, it waits, it stays tucked away for the next bad night, the next night where I put down my work, lower my defenses, and look at my heart in the cage.
And, additionally, whenever I look at it, I always miss you so badly.
Yes, I miss you so badly, but I do not allow myself to embrace it.
Instead, I allow that certain feeling to make a home on my shoulder and continue to whisper words in my ear, making me feel like I’m the last man on Earth.
It’s better– it is way better than letting my heart out and plug it inside my chest, and once again feel everything (or at least I think so).

I think I have just accepted the fact that I am heartless as hell right now.

True, I’ve distanced myself just like what you are doing to me right now.
I keep my heart out and put it in a cage because I do not want to allow myself to feel everything that I want to feel; although I could heart it screaming.
And maybe, maybe that’s where the nagging feeling came from.
So, perhaps it’s just like what I wrote: I pulled out my heart, I barricaded it, I shut people out, and I decided for now it’s better that way.
Even though, from time to time, since years and years ago, the slightest glimpse of your name, your face, or your voice, will invoke a pang of dread inside of me.
It’s not because you’re a monster – not because I’m terrified of you – it’s because I’m afraid of the love that I have for you and the things that I would do for you.

It terrifies me, and it has become one of my greatest fears, and I don’t know when I will be able to overcome it, perhaps not now, not today, not even tomorrow.

Maybe it will go away, maybe someday I will unlock my cage with a smile, and put my heart inside my chest once again, and the nagging feeling would go away.
Maybe I will someday put my heart on my sleeves again just like what I did.
Maybe I will embrace that terrifying fact, and understand that whatever it is that I would do for you, it’s just because of the love that I have or you.
Maybe I will face that stupid fear and finally acknowledge how powerful love is.
Maybe later when I do all of those, this nagging feeling would go away.

Or maybe never.





“.. It’s hard because there’s no fucking closure.”
“We, humans, do psychologically need closure, especially when we are dealing with a loss. For example, me. I lost both of my parents in a year. I broke up with my boyfriend at that time. And not a single one of them gave me closure.”
“I kept asking myself question on the things that happened. Especially my parent’s death. It gave me so many unanswered questions: What is death? Why did it happened to both of them? Or why the fuck is it so scary? Don’t give me that face. You won’t understand how it feels like until it happened to you.”

She took another drag from the cigarette in her hand.

“And with my ex? It took me 3 years– 3 fucking years to gave myself closure.”
“It was hell, let me tell you. When everything just does not make sense, you have to make sense of it all by yourself. My parent’s death. That nasty breakup. Those. I have to repeatedly say to myself the answer to the questions that was swirling around in my head.”
“And the worst part of it? You have to be satisfied with those answer! Those fucking answers, you hear me? Answers that you might not be able to confirm everywhere in this Earth because the related parties that indirectly gave you the question, was and/or is unable – or might just don’t want – to provide you the answers that you want to hear!”


It was 2:30 A.M.
I was walking through the lobby, about to go home after a day’s worth of work.
As I went through the emergency door, I saw this one particular co-worker of mine.
She’s been in the company for more than 2 years, but we barely talk to each other.
And she was smoking while emptily gazing to the cloudy night sky.
I walked to her slowly, and called her name.
Well, of course she was surprised to find someone at that time.
She and I shared greetings, and talked about work-related topics.

But not for long.

After more than an hour, we started to talked about personal things.
Or at least, it was her that started to ramble about her personal things.
She started with the things that happened with her years ago, that still repeatedly boggle her mind until this very day; why, you ask?

Because, just like what she said: there were no closure.


“But you know the phrase ‘the mind sees what it wants to see’? One could be biased, The person that you want or wanted to hear the answers from might have already gave you the answers that you need– all of them.”
“Yet those answers were not the answers that you want.”

She eyed me angrily while slowly releasing white smokes from her mouth.
I took the cigarette box from her hand, and started playing with it.

“Tell me about it, please. Looks like you’ve known me better. Are you, me? You do not understand how it feels like, to try to make sense of everything when everything does not make sense!”

“While we’re at it, I could say the same thing.”
“I know how it feels like to try to make sense of everything when everything does not make sense. I know how it feels like to search for closure by stupidly asking myself the question that I want that certain person to answer.”
“And I know how it feels like to be forced to live with the answers that are answered by me and for me, myself. It was – and still is – so fucking stupid.”
“I want closure. I want one. I fucking wanted one and I still want one.”

She butted her cigarette, took the cigarette box from my hands, took another cigarette, lit it, and inhaled deeply – the tip was flaring an angry red – and looked directly at me as if she was trying to search for something in my eyes.

“You’ve been hurt before. And the cause, I bet, was a very, very bad one.”
“You want know how I portray you right now? From the way you talk, the way you tell your stories, and from the way you describe yourself? Well, I’m not really that imaginative alright, but I always get my picture right about this kind of thing.”
“It’s as if you’re guarding a thick and plainly visible barrier for your heart.”
“Okay, before you start to say that there are already a lot of people saying that to you, I’m going to say that this one’s different: you’re outside your barrier.”
“You’re not inside your walls, you, are worse: you are guarding your walls outside of it, and apparently making sure that no one is doing anything to those walls.”
“Most people would let anyone trying to do things to their wall, but not you.”
“Look, you seem so warm, you seem so open, but I think that’s a facade. You keep most things to yourself, and you don’t let anyone get close to you.”
“I’m not going to ask anything about it, whether it’s right or not, and if it is, I will also not going to pry more into this matter.”
“Mind you that it was just what I observed. It was purely my opinion.”

Her thoughts made me thinking.
It’s true that people kept saying I have those tall walls that I made for myself jut to keep people out from whatever it is that is happening inside my heart.
But, no one ever said to me that I am actually guarding those walls.

Am I now ?

“Okay, I don’t know what is happening with you, and I might be wrong. But if, let’s say, I’m right, then perhaps you should understand why you do it.”
“Forget about closure. Those assholes – whoever they are – will never give you the right answers. Or at least according to you: the answers that you want.”
“If you are lucky enough, you might be able to get one. But don’t ever get your hopes high over those things called closure from people like that.”
“In fact, I bet you’ve done it– you gave people no closure at one time, maybe.”
“I did it, too. Once.”

I took a cigarette from the box, and put it in my mouth.
I took her lighter, and angrily tried to lit the cigarette, but my hands were slipping, the lighter was just seem to be constantly off from my fingers, refused to be lit.
She took the lighter from me, and start to lit it up.
I looked at her, and saw her smiling.

In that instant, I wondered: how could she find closure in herself?

“How do you find closure? How could you answers those questions?”

I gently shoved her hand away, and she put off the fire from lighter.

“I guess I’m just luckier than most people.”
“Most people need way more time to comfort themselves and finally find closure.”
“And sometimes, sometimes, they never find it for the rest of their lives.”
“Especially on this matter called death.”
“For me, it happens when I stopped trying. I stopped trying to make sense of everything and just be satisfied with the answer that I found just for myself.”
“I guess.. I guess that’s where you know that you accepted something.”
“When you stop trying to make sense of everything.”

She lit up the lighter again, and offered me to light up my cigarette.
This time, I took up her offer, and drag the cigarette in my mouth deeply.
It was the first cigarette I’ve had since more than a year ago.

“… But how do you make sense of love?”
“Do you have to stop trying to love someone to make sense of it? Do you, in this case, have to be satisfied with what you’ve presented to yourself about love?”

“Love isn’t trying. It is what it is– it’s just be.”
“And you do not and do not try to make sense of love, obviously.”
“Because, when you find that one right person, everything just make sense. The love itself is not, mind you. The ‘why’– the reason, will never make sense.”
“But when you love someone, everything about you and that person, will make sense.”

I looked away from her and lifted up my gaze to the sky.
It’s this kind of random talks and random meets – even though she’s not so random because technically she’s my co-worker – that made me thinking about me, myself, the world, and what happened to me, not to mention her.
Even after all of this talk, I’m not even sure with the state of my heart right now; well, she could be right, I might guarding this heart of mine and all.
But, to the right person, to her, would I just voluntarily break down my barriers and show how vulnerable I am to her?

I guess so.


Now, all the 3rd-person female references below this sentence is her.
She once (playfully?) mocked me when I met her and talked to her weeks ago.
She mocked me about one of my post which I wrote that I’ve tried to stop loving her, in which, just like what I wrote, I failed miserably.
But then I rebuked her and say that it has nothing to do with moving on, which because, I said to her, moving on and loving someone are two different things.

I guess she didn’t understand that I tried to stop loving her only and only because I thought it could stop me from trying to make sense of everything that happened between me and her, and I could finally go on with everything.
Turns out, I could still moving forward with all the love inside of me– which, I’m not so sure that I have that love inside of me anymore.
Because, just like what my co-worker said, I guess I’m outside my own heart.
And right now, I don’t even know what my heart really contains, thanks to myself for taking it out and locking it in a cage somewhere else.
I guess, that cage, is the barrier that my co-worker saw.
But, If I may say, I guess I’m still not ready to wear my own heart right now.

At this rate, I’m not even sure if I want to (like I said weeks ago) acknowledge the love that I have for her, not to anyone but myself and her.
No, I haven’t stop trying to make sense of everything, but it’s not a daily thing for me anymore and not as much as I was doing back then.
Thanks to my workload, of course.

And about love, I don’t really know whether it is a bad thing, or a good thing to finally stop trying to stop loving her.

If you think it is a bad thing, let me ask you then: what would you do if nothing has changed even if you tried to do something about it numerous times?
We know that insanity means doing something over and over and over again and expecting different results– and I’m not going to fall into that category.
And I know, maybe, you, also do not want to fall into that category.
So, for the second time : what would you do ?

What would you do when trying no longer works?

What would you do when, you are in my position, and nothing else make sense other than the love that you have for that special person you have in your life?


“… Because love is not rational.”
“And it will never be.”








If my words,
by some miracle,

half as ravishing
as you are,

I would have
your memory

my petty prose
and unrhymed

they are not;

they will
never be;

for art
cannot ever
to the muse’s





When I walked home today, I took my time looking at the night sky.
And it was just as usual: pitch black night, no stars.
Yet, I took my time– I went for a slow and steady walk.

And I actually enjoyed the pitch black starless sky.

Because it got me thinking.
Or, no, it made me realize the state of my heart right now.
Is it pitch black? Yes; is it starless? Maybe.
But the similarity lies in the void that this heart of mine and the dark night sky seem to have: the same, dark, unknown void.

Let me tell you why.

Ever since she left this innermost circle of mine, she took with her a part of me.
True, she broke my heart, and she broke it to billions of pieces alright.
But, as the time goes, I began to re-arrange the pieces to its original shape.
It was a tough work, not to mention that I had to fucking do it alone.
Granted, the heart is back to its original shape– the same fragile, loving state.
Or so I thought it’d be.

Because it’s not complete– it’s in a different shape than the first time I gave it to her– than the first time I told her to handle it with utmost care.
In which, in distress and confusion, she threw it away like a worthless junk– successfully broke it to pieces like a mug being thrown into a floor.

It’s so different.
I could recognize it as my own heart, the same, old, tattered, familiar shit that I’ve had since roughly 25 or 26 (I’m not even sure) years ago.
But the difference is, it has a very big – huge – hole right at the center of it.
And I feel it– I am feeling it– all too fucking well.

Imagine a wooden block hole toy.
A toy that teach kids (I’m not sure the scientific side of this) to learn about shapes, by putting a toy plastic with a certain shape into its respective hole.
And, well, the goal is for the kid to put every single toy into the correct hole with the correct shape– to teach kid (again) about shapes and all.
At least I think so.
So what does it all have to do with my heart, you ask?

Because right now, it’s as if I am the kid, and the wooden hole, is my heart.

I’m not going to lie, I met a lot of girls.
And what happened is, I turned down every single one of them.
Because, it’s just like what people said: when you have seen better things, or best things, would you want to, or maybe, be able to go back into worse things?
In my case, I don’t think so.

Now, again, imagine me as a person with a block hole toy in front of me.
Only, this time, the wooden block with hole in it, is my heart.
Imagine it having black as its colour, and unlike usual block hole toy with so many holes, it only have one huge hole at the center on its upper surface.
And the shape of the hole? I don’t really know, it’s unique.
It’s so unlike another shape that I’ve encountered all these years.
But, the void is so noticeable, I’m feeling it all too well.

And I miss her, so fucking much.

It’s as if I’m being a little kid that doesn’t even know what shapes are.
And, facing this condition, what I’m feeling inside my heart is more than just a confusion, and it’s more than just wanting her to come back to me.
Because, now, it’s as if I’m trying to fill the hole inside my heart with so many shapes that don’t even fit– not even a single one from them.
Yes, I’m trying to fill the void she left in my heart.
Imagine me as a kid, repeatedly trying to fit a certain shape into the hole in his block hole toy, oblivious of why the shape doesn’t fit into the hole.
Only in my case, I understand that it won’t fit, yet I’m still doing it anyway.
A futile and stupid attempt, I understand.
But maybe, this is why usually people are using shallow relationship as a rebound after they’ve broken up with their loved one in their previous relationships.
And only to find that they can’t replace someone that they’ve previously lost just like that: using someone that doesn’t really fit inside their heart as a replacement– our hearts aren’t stupid, they are smart enough to deeply feel it.

And so, knowing that those things were, and are going to be futile anyway, I stopped doing it– I stopped getting the so-called ‘replacement’.
Heck, I’m not even sure I was trying to get a ‘replacement’.
Yes, all I’ve been doing is just trying to do something to fill the huge void– the hole inside my heart that’s been there since about 1.5 years ago.

And I guess, I have failed to do so.

Come to think about it, what does this means?
Is this love? Or is this just my inability to fill the hole myself?
Is the love that I have for her since years ago is just merely a constant crave for her to actually fill my heart with her love and presence?
Looking more closely, the hole has been there since years and years ago.
All she’s been done is just make it more unique– she’s been giving it her own unique crook and shape, all the more explanation why no other shape could fit it.

If what I’m thinking is true, isn’t love is just a cruel joke, then?
A cruel joke that left people to crave a certain someone so that their holes in their hearts could be filled with love and other kind of affections?

For thousands of years, no one could actually describe clearly what love is.
Well, I’ve been since long knowing that love is not goddamn rational.
So please scratch those stupid assumptions and thoughts in paragraph above this one, it’s just another weird theory that randomly came into my mind.
Yet, I could assure you that those thoughts are based on what I’m feeling now.

And so, I’m going to continue doing one thing that I’m best at:


Once again I’m going to put my heart in a cage, and securely lock it.
And because that’s not enough, I’m going to put it in a chest.
I need more than just a cage at this point– I need something soundproof, something that will make me unable to see my own heart every single day.
After all of those, I will still bury the chest beneath my daily things.
Beneath this filthy pile of nasty things called work.

So what if people call me a cold-heartless bastard with foul and straightforward mouth that frequently say things bluntly without sugar-coating anything?

Well, I’ll thank them for being so honest in speaking their opinions.
But at the same time, I’ll tell them that I will not give a single fuck.
Might not be that harsh, but I’ll make sure they get the real meaning.

Because, once again, I’ve reinforced my own wall.

And this time, I won’t let anyone in– no.
… Or at least I don’t know.


Dear Love,

The more I show my true self to people, the more they – the sensitive ones – could read and understand me and my condition right now.
Some of them could even say that I have trust issues after talking to me for few weeks, which is I think is a stupid but considerable feat that might not require much skills other than luck itself, I know, but still.
Maybe they’re right– just maybe, because as I wrote, I realized that I have subconsciously put up a very tall wall to keep people away from me.
No, they don’t scare me, that’s not the reason why I put up a wall.
And being terrified is not even a reason on why I put up a wall.
Maybe it is, but I don’t want to let some random people in without any given reason.

In fact, now that we’re talking about something scary, it’s not them, it’s you.

You scare me.

It’s not that you’re being scary like some sort of a ghost or something, no.
It’s that, you terrify me because you make me feel something.
Love, I don’t need to think or even understand what love is– no one should.
But, if there’s one of the things that I know for sure is that, it scares me.
I’m not going to settle for comfort because it’s familiar and shits.
And, just like what you said, I will not be content or even love you with what I know right now because maybe it seems like I’m waiting for you or you are waiting for me– no, It’s not like that– not at all.

Let me tell you these things:

I love you because you terrifies me– it’s like you have this new ways of looking at the world– solely because you are different, that there is some unexplainable connection that is pulling me back to you, no matter how much I tried to deny it.
You, love, made me feel something when I look into those eyes of yours– they attract me and terrify me at the same time– they changed me, challenged me, and at the same time, make me – you make me – and help me grow.
And, if you want to argue about love, well, what the hell else is our purpose on this earth than to live our life, and to love foolishly, fearlessly, and fully?

Love, I’m not afraid to feel something deeply.
I won’t hold back about it, and I won’t deny my heart the pleasure of loving someone up to the point where I will give that person – you – my soul.
And of course, I know all too well that in reality, love will never be easy; yes, that still scares me, but, at the same time, that’s the most beautiful part.
Love, you might scare me as hell, but you’re making me feel something.
And as much as I want to hide my own heart, I know that it’s there, and I know that it does still love you with the same – if not more – love since years ago.

You’re not ordinary– you’ve changed my whole life.

And at the same time, your love, has altered my – our – entire lives.