I’ve never been able to sublimate my love and turn it into something more powerful or otherworldly than exactly what it is. It’s a ragged, stormy, vulnerable, awkward and immediate thing and, once I’ve loved someone, I will love them always. I’ll keep my distance if I need to, but I will always hope for some level of harmony, and they will likely never leave my prayers and well-wishes.
Something inside of me deeply resists the trend of categorizing people into subhuman tropes based on their level of relational behavior, their failures, their ugly sides. I, too, have ugly sides, and I, too, am worthy of love.
It boggles my mind when I hear our fellow humans throwing around massively disparaging titles so callously and effortlessly as they discuss other humans. It just seems irresponsible and, quite frankly, juvenile and petulant. It lacks the depth of true compassion, clarity or understanding. Those with the inability to forgive will likely be cursed with the inability to deeply love and be loved. Not to mention, the outlook is deeply disempowering (s/o to my exes, most of whom will likely never see this anyway: I don’t describe you or think of you in black-and-white and I never will).
We are tragically and hilariously flawed beings. We are all full of mixed motives. We are capable of great tenderness and great viciousness alike. We overestimate the sunshine and then curse at the clouds. We love the ones who hurt us and we hurt the ones who love us. We rush in, we push, we pull, we forget important things - our coat, our strength, the last step on the staircase, our keys, our goodness. It’s awkward and foolish and that’s just how it is. We rise and we falter and we get up the next day and do it all over again (to paraphrase Jackson Browne).
And it's fucking beautiful, warts and all, exactly as it is. And guess what? So are You.
- RPD
Journal Entry - 3/23/19
