We Need To Share Our Love A Little More Often

Sharing is caring. The adage has been in our curriculum since we were in kindergarten. And though primarily we applied this to our toys, as we grew up, we knew it meant more than that. Sharing was giving, as in our homes, our food, our wisdom, and our compassion. It meant that at times we would rip our hearts from their cavities and hand them to the taker, regardless of the bloody mess that would plummet to the floor. However, at some point, we were taught to disregard the proverb when it came to our love. It was wrong to share our love with more than one person. We cannot give too much of ourselves to others. We should be committed and our love should stop there.

I believe that love should always be shared.

I am not sure where this taboo came from. It seems that we think we can only stretch our love so far, as if love is a solid, made of elastic and not a liquid that ebbs and flows forever like a long, quiet creek. As if love has a means of beginning and ending and can empty.

I know it does not.

I believe that jealousy and possession are rampant beasts that have taken the love we are given as humans and assigned it a limit, specified an expiration, cursed it with a sure death. I believe that love should not be about these things; it should not include these things. And I think, regardless, love does not heed to these things.

I believe that love is patient and love is kind and it is not proud and it rejoices in truth.

I believe love has no eyes to notice neither race nor gender, no ears to hear language or warning; it has only instinct, deeply rooted as the bark of the tree is rooted into its ground and does not move, primitive as our body’s craving for drink and for food. An intuition, an impulse that cannot be subdued without us throwing away inhibitions and the ideas of consequence.

I believe love is our essential emotion, our essential meaning, our essential truth which cannot be shut off or ignored. Love makes us whole. To not love whomever or whatever we desire is to destroy ourselves from the inside out. To ignore the tugs on our heart strings or the uncomfortable longing and sickness right in our gut is to smother and suffocate ourselves slowly and surely.

I believe that we can fall in love with so many people.

I believe we can fall in love with the shy nature of first glance. I believe we can fall in love with the way someone subtly leaves things behind so they will always have a reason to come back. I believe we can fall in love with the secure chaos of a mind’s racing thoughts, with someone’s ability to actually look into our eyes in conversation, with the way their accent speaks our name, every single time. We can fall in love as we watch their mouth project the words and swing their hips to a song we cannot stand. We can fall in love despite language, despite culture, despite common ground and with something only we can understand. We can fall in love with that look, with the fire behind their eyes as they disclose what they hold close, and the way their tongue juts between their teeth when they smile. We can fall in love with those things, even if it’s only for a little or for a while. And we can fall in love as we find comfort in a room of only two, awkward at first, and all a sudden we can breathe easier there.

And it all begins. We learn them. We know what they are going to do. We love that they are going to do it.

I believe we can fall in love over and over and over again. It will never always work. Sometimes we leave and sometimes we come back, and sometimes the ending is soft like a fallen snow untouched by footprints racing back and forth and back and forth, remaining beautiful forever. Sometimes we leave before it really starts. And sometimes only as soon as we are done. But I believe we are allowed to fall in love over and over with so many people until we are sure that we have found our favorite one.

I believe that love is insatiable when we give up, when we settle, when we stop looking because we think that it’s not right or moral to keep falling and crashing and bruising and hurting. Because I believe love is meant to be given, meant to be taken, and meant to be shared. I don’t believe in holding back because there have been too many or we have become too damaged, too hardened from the heartaches. I believe love should be shared until we find who we chose, until we look at someone and know that no body, not one of those souls we’ve been though understood ours like they do. I believe we should love over and over until we lose our fucking heads. Until we hurt so bad, hurt so many we are crawling out of our skin. Until we are exhausted of others. Until they are exhausted of us. So that we learn what we still love when we are tired. What still loves us when we are tired. When we are finished. When we are finally ready to go home.