ate the whole thing


We like to say that love  makes us crazy.
But thats a copout
Love is what keeps us alive while living. 
It’s the parachute we hope will open.
Love is the creamy frosting that makes us eat straight down to the cupcake wrapper
and then lick it clean.
Still, we have the nerve to blame love for our ravenous appetite.

Love is a beautiful, terrifying fucking adventure.
We smirk like champions claiming we are ready to bungie jump into its dark, echoing canyon.
We want it.  We run towards it, and then tell it to scale the walls around our heart.
Love doesn’t give a shit about all that.
Love will hang out, sipping whisky and shooting pool, until you open the gate.

We fling our fear to release the pain.
We blame our lovers.
We blame our mothers
Our fathers
and the various assholes who have tried to show us the path into light via the shadows.
We tighten up on our reigns for fear of runnin’ wild, runnin’ wild.
It’s true.

But what we need – need – need – is to lick the frosting that is love.
And know that the bruises on our heart are not caused by love, but actually, 
are healed by it.



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