I have always been the type who either loved too much or too little, and in a world weaved too deeply in the fabric of cynicism, the latter was often the option of choice. We are encouraged to feel little, and to show little. Minimalism extended well beyond clothing and architecture – It encompassed emotions.
For the greater part since I hit puberty, I had a tight rein of my feelings and in the few instances that I had permitted myself to be inebriated by love, all of which had concluded with the bitter taste of heartbreak, simply aggravated the voice inside my head that constantly told me to never feel too much – that at the end of the day it is those who feel, who hurt all the more.
Perhaps that’s what makes all of this, us, more challenging. I have grown too accustomed to a life of complete independence. I have relied on no one but myself; Keeping the hurt inside the abyss of my mind in fear of being seen as weak and to sever those walls, brick by brick took quite a considerable measure of courage, far more extreme than having to actually put them up. It made me fragile to the smallest of remarks, that battling seeds of doubt has become an everyday strife. I am frequently plagued by the idea that what charmed you the most about me would someday, in the same way, drive you away.
Nonetheless I cannot deny the immense joy that fills me. I am afraid, terrified even, but in the like manner, I am overwhelmingly happy. It is by your side that I have found a niche. And therefore I take the fear in stride with the bliss. I risk to hurt myself again, that I know is of high probability, however what I am more certain is that to not be with you right now, to not choose you, to not love you, and not be loved by you is an incomparably greater pain.
Thus, let me love you too much.
I had always been the type who either loved too much or too little.
This time around, maybe just maybe, I’ll love you more than is enough.
And I too, will be loved back all the same.