Sometimes my inspirations come so vividly, I have to wonder if what I’m experiencing is delusional especially when I’m running really hard, or lost deep in a rabbit hole of writing. I’m sure you creatives can identify?
It amazes me when I take a break to grab coffee or pee, that up until that super need manifesting I was so completely invested in the connection between me and my active story I had lost track of time… At first, It’s hard to believe how far I’ve come from day one when words wouldn’t cooperate…
Then I remember the skill has come at the price of time, I’ve given up my own versions of sacrifices to attain a deeper understanding of reality… Friendships, blood, sweat, and tears, so many years of facing fears and researching have finally earned me a fearless writing voice. Sometimes I may not have the most impressing things to say, but I find my way and the words seem to lead me.
Keeping my body honest, I can look back and read my own words telling me to stay hungry until I get where I’m going. Love begins within… If I can’t love myself, how will I know to love anyone else?
And if I’m faking it, living it out by playing at the characters I’ve seen eventually I will run out of material, no? Eventually, my guard will relieve itself of me because at heart I think we humans were built for expressions of integrity.
I have accepted certain examples as my perfect samples of love, but those I will keep to myself for now, because somehow I also think everyone’s ‘perfect’ looks a little different.
The examples I’ve chosen have stuck out to me like a sore thumb at the moments I’ve felt most deprived of love myself. Times when I could literally feel the thirst for it in my interactions, the way I soaked up certain books religiously.
So what does it means to love?
I haven’t received a masters in that area yet, nor have I wrote the book, though I’m convinced I grew up on stories surrounding the topic, I’m convinced it is all about balance. It doesn’t have to be torturous or sacrificial ALL of the time, though some of it may be spent facing dragons.
It doesn’t have to be pleasure-centered or based in excentric gestures, it’s in the subtle romance, baby. Besides, what’s better than sitting in company you can enjoy quietly, without the expectation of noise to communicate.
It’s in soft lips kissing against a cold ear they’ve brushed a million times only to find the same spark they began with because it’s the time invested that holds a stake to the claim they’ve placed on your heart. It’s in the moments spared to remember that the person holding my body has been a rock to me.
Through the violence, they’ve found ways to hold me though I fight it like a caged animal. Against all odds, they’ve held on to me tight enough that my mind goes silent. In their presence, I’ve been at peace, the need to speak completely calmed.
Love can reflect in the form of reminders from those who know me to use time wisely when I seem to be spending it frivolously. Giving me a reason to take stock of my dreams often. Even in the face of adversity, they remind me of who I started out to be, which usually leads me to bleed a little more in their name.
Because I’ve witnessed humanity on both ends of the spectrum, witnessed wolves inside my heroes, and saving grace in who the world might see as zeros… I empathize with the underdog, and root for their success, but I can’t stomach all this sympathy.
Apologizing for someone else situation is no better than telling them you are superior, there is nothing loving about that… I’d rather extend my hand and a little dose of humor, a show of the gifts I bring to the table will be felt when I leave you with a smile and the promise that anytime we meet again I will see you as someone special.
Because at my lowest that’s what I’ve needed. Someone to see that I was defeated, and instead of coming armed with an ‘I’m sorry’, maybe trying a slug in my arm and a question like, ‘what’s taking you so long to catch up?’
Love is an action not a meaningless series of words, don’t talk about the things I’ve done that make me a ‘good’ someone. I am a fiend for new experiences and those I experience compassion with.
It can be a hand on a shoulder that seems especially slumped.
The last dollar from your backpack put into the coffee tin sitting in front of someone. What matters is the smile it’s extended with, the reminder that I see in them what they see in me, a reason to extend kindness, it’s comforting that we each found the other worthy of a moment of genuine friendliness.
It costs me nothing to offer a piece of my time toward the acknowledgment of another’s importance… We are meant to build the characters we share a book with up, to burn them would eventually take us with, our interwoven strings would suggest that their unraveling would lead also to mine.