This is for the hearts that always go the extra mile because, in their innocence, they cannot distinguish the blurry line between making an effort and trying too hard. Hearts were made to bleed and break and love until they shatter, and when they do, there is no crime in romanticizing the pain and the subsequent healing process, because trust me, you will heal.
It is beautiful to throw yourself into the deep end with reckless abandon and that beauty is not diminished if your diving partner lets you take the leap alone and selfishly watches you plummet from the edge of the cliff. When brave souls dive off the ends of the earth in the name of love, even if the hands they expect to catch them fail to stretch out, there is always steady ground waiting to embrace their broken body and snatch them out of gravity’s clutch. And when they have healed, the world gets to witness them rise and do it all over again.
There is nothing attractive about nonchalance, neither is there a prize to be won for playing this game with your cards held tightly to your chest. Which then begs the question of why we exhaust so much energy in competing to get in and out of relationships without scars. I am not goading you to seek hurt out but if it so happens that it comes to you draped in the cloak of love, welcome it into your house and pour it a cup of tea. There is no magic sieve that filters out all the bad and ugly parts of being in love, and even if it did exist, I’m not sure we would need it.
The heart knows how to heal itself, how to stitch back all its broken pieces until it is whole again. What does it do with itself when it is not loving, when it is not collecting scars and wrinkles from its wide and varied encounters and interactions? At the end of the day, it is no different from any other muscle in the human body. There is no damage done to it that a good stretch cannot mend. It’s also a great fashion statement, so let none fault you for boldly wearing it on your sleeve for all to see, to feel, to experience.
I can feel that you desire this kind of love that masquerades as madness. Every rationale fiber of your being tells you that such an unguarded love is suicide, but pray do tell child, would you rather drown from love or choke on your thirst for it? They have hurt you before, this I know, but I beg you not to punish your heart for the sins of others.
Love remains, even when they leave. Especially when they leave. A few bad tenants do not mean the house must be closed up and served as a feast for termites and mold. Love never hurts but thoughts, words, and deeds conceived in its absence do. So cover yourself in as much love as you can, and seek out human affection wherever it is to be found. Life is already a circus, so there is no shame in being a clown.