If you love a flower, don’t pick it up.
Because if you pick it up it dies and it ceases to be what you love. So if you love a flower, let it be.
Love is not about possession.
Love is about appreciation.
You are not going to die alone. There are already people who love you, asexuality and all. Maybe that love is romantic, maybe it’s platonic, maybe it’s familial. What does it matter? Unless a particular kind of love that you do not have is important to you, you don’t need it. And nobody ever has the right to tell you that the kinds of love you want, and the kinds of love you have, are not enough.
“I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where. I love you simply, without problems or pride: I love you in this way because I do not know any other way of loving but this, in which there is no I or you, so intimate that your hand upon my chest is my hand, so intimate that when I fall asleep your eyes close.”—
Pablo Neruda
(via
)
I love sharing a bed with someone I care about. I love feeling someone breathe next to me I love being enveloped by someone else’s smell I love being able to roll over in the middle of the night and wrap my arms sleepily around someone and feel their warmth.
When reading, we don’t fall in love with the characters’ appearance. We fall in love with their words, their thoughts, and their hearts. We fall in love with their souls.
I love sharing a bed with someone I care about. I love feeling someone breathe next to me I love being enveloped by someone else’s smell I love being able to roll over in the middle of the night and wrap my arms sleepily around someone and feel their warmth.
“You’re not in love with me, not really, you just love the way I always made you feel. Like you were the center of my world. Because you were. I would have done anything for you.”
—
Abby McDonald
I love new years. I love the fact that
I’ll be leaving a whole year behind me,
no matter if it was good, bad, or
average. I like that kind of closure. I
love this feeling of starting over again
and having a fresh year ahead of me,
filled with new chances, new
experiences.
My mind feels like a broken record, repeating those three words that keep my heart beating. I love you. I love you. I love you.
