Love is complicated
Love is not a straight line, but rather crooked sticks loving people straight
Love is not safe; cannot be controlled
It is a toddler staggering all over the place
It’s a one year old with a birthday cake messy
Love gets in your hair, your mouth, your eyes
You can’t structure it
It just leaps all over
Love is not in it for itself
It gives, and decides to accept
To hold, to weep
To keep silent, to laugh
To speak
To lay down, to stand up
To wait
To serve, to lose
To be treated unfairly
To be left behind
To win
To be broken
To be cast out
And to love nonetheless.
Love is made of “I’m sorry,” and less about me. Love is saying yes when you want to say no.
I used to think I loved people, but I realized I only loved people who were like me. But, I have found that loving people well is loving them despite how “unlovable” they may be.
Love does not have a measuring stick, and it doesn’t ask you to rise up to its standard.
No, love stoops down to the ground, curls its arms around you, and loves you up.
Chunky love is the only love. Nice, plump, bulky, and heavy love….with nuts on the inside.
Love is warm.
Love serves, and love dies.
It dies.
Love is dying
