Love is a funny thing. Sometimes it’s a lot of work, sometimes it’s easy. I have loved a lot of people in my life and do so currently love many people. Is it love when you feel another’s heart ache? Is it love when you feel the need to hold another? What is it that makes the heart yearn? Makes the heart want to make another’s life better? Is that love? Why is it that my heart breaks? Lost opportunities, missed chances for a better life, poor decisions, different choices with different outcomes? There are so many that given the chance I want to love them. I want to comfort them, to hold them close, to give them relief from their daily chaotic lives. I want them to experience peace amidst the turmoil. I’m not enough to give to all that I want to give. But I do. I break off a piece of my heart and I let them take it with them. Hoping, always hoping, in the process that I’ve somehow made their lives better. Funny, though I give so much of myself, I still feel whole, actually more complete than if I’d been stingy and kept it all for myself. It hurts though. The pain is so real. To give and not be accepted or not be enough. I’m just a small spark hoping to start a fire in those I choose to love. I know they can’t take all of me but I wish so much to give each one that I love every last bit of me. I want for them to see possibilities, to dream without fear. I want for them to live and to love again, or maybe even for the first time. The young woman who never had a childhood, the young man who is trying to support his family. The older gentleman who is bitter. I want to love them. If only I knew how… I have to love me first, if I don’t first take care of myself I’m of no use to anyone else. On the darker side, there are those I choose not to love. Not because they aren’t deserving but because loving them is too hard. Loving them hurts too much and so I block them out. I give them nothing of me. Those that aren’t willing to let me share my heart with others don’t get a part. They are stingy and selfish. Yet, they still own a part, a tiny part, that waits. Waits to be sparked, carefully, hopefully, yet hiding deep inside of me, not willing to be revealed. That hidden love stays hidden so that I don’t lose myself completely. Without love I am nothing, and love that isn’t shared is wasted.
To you, reader, I freely give you what little I have, thank you for reading,