Love is a river. It doesn’t exist when it’s not flowing.
When grief comes, love moves from being a noun to being a verb.
Love is the awareness of being.
Love is a sculptor who chisels off our nonessentials, until we stand with nothing left to show but love.
When grief comes, survivors discover the depths of love, and the emptiness of its absence.
Love is a crucible where we are refined into purity.
It’s a chrysalis that transforms us into a new creation.
I break my love in two, give half to you. If you love me back, the piece you give to me is fused to the piece I kept. Gradually we become everyone who has loved us.
Love is a fire that burns our hesitations to ashes. It releases the phoenix of compassion from our hearts.
When grief comes, I will love you with my whole being. I will love you with the river’s compassion and the mountain’s strength. I will care for you until both of us are transformed into love.
Love is an act of being, and becoming.
No comments:
Post a Comment