I want to tell you a story.
I was in love with a beautiful woman. The beautiful woman was in love with me. There were moments of passion that rivaled volcanoes and moments of tender caresses that would make poets weep. We danced our dance, had our own language and jokes, looks and expressions, sayings and every little thing you can imagine that you can share with another human being.
Then, as happens in life sometimes, that love in the form it as in had to end. The why of it is not important to this story, nor is the how, the when, or even the where.
What is important is the thing that didn’t happen.
See, ending what we had didn’t end what we had. It just ends a moment in the journey of what we had. We could not do Thing A or Thing B, but the language and jokes and the rest never changed and are being used up until this very day that I write this to you.
So, Uncle Bear wants you to listen really well for a second.
Just because a phase in our lives ends, does not mean the life itself has to end. If a rose loses a single petal, is it any less a rose than what it was, to begin with? No, it is a rose, sweet and wonderful still, just a little different than it had been a few moments before. You do not hate it because you noticed the loss, you both cherish the time you had with it while and you start the new with it as it is, as you are, as things must be.
Love is a terrible burden on mankind. To have the epitome of a perfect feeling is a weight that some wear well, others wear horribly, and simply others choose not to wear it at all.
I love, love.
I love being in love, I love falling in love, I love knowing that the person I talk to loves me. I may or may not have the soul of a poet, that is for others to say of me after I am no longer here. However what I will say of myself is that when you ask me what my heart is, if I love you, I will rip open my chest and bear the truth to you, even if I know the rejection that is to come as I do it.
If you cannot live, love, authentically and wholly, then what is this grand experiment we are all in worth at all?
No one counts the days until they get to see how angry they are again, but everyone gets to count the days, the moments even until they get to see that person which makes them know the world is not as sharp as it once was, or, even if it is sharp, there is at least one another who will brave the bleeding for you.
You know that when you see their happiness, hear of their joy, that you will be a better person for it because the beauty of the spirit is what makes all of the pain worth it.
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