Love is strange; it asks for certainty from a world built entirely on uncertainty.
The deepest forms of devotion are often mistaken for madness by those who have never felt them.
Perhaps the soul does not seek safety it seeks something worthy of drowning for.
♥️
History has forgiven far worse people for choosing themselves, so I think I’ll survive being a little imperfect. Maybe you are allowed to be selfish, confused, healing, and still worthy of a good life. Very revolutionary concept, I know.
I used to think love was about understanding someone’s deepest fears, contradictions, and emotional architecture.
Apparently it is also just “look, this cloud looks like a dinosaur.”