Holding on, though painful, proves to us that we are capable. We’re capable of saying “I love you” and meaning it. That we can commit to love and not be flimsy about that commitment because here we are, still loving them, unconditionally, as all the other conditions have been lost.
It’s time we stop sweeping this truth about ourselves into the category of why we’re embarrassingly pathetic. The strength to admit to where you’re lost and hurting and mistaken and wrong is unmatched. It makes searingly brave people out of the ones who were most afraid of themselves to begin with.
It’s time we stop thinking of love as something that must go when someone else does. Because it’s in doing so that we realize the belt of it that’s within us, that we identify where it’s rooted and from what it grows, and we use that to grow the rest of us. These are the stories from which the real fairy tales happen. The times we uncover the love we have, and let it hang there by itself, and learn to step into it ourselves, and not wait for anybody else to bring it out of us.