definitions from the past, relevant to the present
To me, love is, first and foremost, a deep
admiration, a beholding of another, in their complexity and
contradictions and an appreciation of all the convoluted truths of
their being, seen, and guessed at, and wholly hidden. It is also a
passionate desire to see them happy, no matter what that means, and no
matter what that means for me. But there's more to it than that.
There's a sickening, sucking longing to be in their presence, a need
that has become more prominent over the years as it is repeatedly
cheated, to be noticed by them, to be admired by them (if not in equal
measure, then at least in some measure), to be valued by them, to be
special to them. And it is that second part that causes me grief,
always, and it continues to grow stronger with every iteration: a part
of me keeps demanding, more insistently each time, that laying myself
so open, offering myself so fully with such complete disregard of self
is wrong.
admiration, a beholding of another, in their complexity and
contradictions and an appreciation of all the convoluted truths of
their being, seen, and guessed at, and wholly hidden. It is also a
passionate desire to see them happy, no matter what that means, and no
matter what that means for me. But there's more to it than that.
There's a sickening, sucking longing to be in their presence, a need
that has become more prominent over the years as it is repeatedly
cheated, to be noticed by them, to be admired by them (if not in equal
measure, then at least in some measure), to be valued by them, to be
special to them. And it is that second part that causes me grief,
always, and it continues to grow stronger with every iteration: a part
of me keeps demanding, more insistently each time, that laying myself
so open, offering myself so fully with such complete disregard of self
is wrong.