We are not whole, because we leave parts of ourselves in everything that we love. Often we cling onto anything that speaks to our soul. There are parts of us that we cannot fathom because we believe that these are to be given to others.
We love wholeheartedly. We fall in love with places we’ve never been to and people that we have never even met. We are givers, we are caretakers, we are listeners, we are comforters.
To us, love is not a feeling, but a way of life. Love is invasive — it runs in our blood and somehow our skin is covered with the marks and prints of the people we love.
We put our lovers before ourselves and we believe we exist to make up for the cruelty of the world and to fix and heal those who are broken by it.
No matter how we feel, we always put others before ourselves. Our love is holy; it’s pure and expects nothing in return.
People come to us like we are medicine, like we are healers, but they don’t know that we offer them nothing more than pure and divine love.
We still manage to love the people that we have to cross the street to avoid. We don’t know hate or ignorance. We believe that those who have once penetrated their way into our souls will always have a place there.
We believe that love is a remedy, a way of life, an art, not merely a feeling. We feed others with love, no matter how empty are stomachs may be.
Whatever we know, we love and give attention to it. Whatever we love, we place it amidst our soul.
People may say that we are a subculture of “loving too much,” but if they all loved like us, I promise you this world will be a different place.