what verb goes with love?

What verb goes with love? Seek. Find. Wait. Grow. Create. Uncover. Stumble. Collide. Sometimes, I wish there were only one. One line of action to get me there. At least if I knew what, I could figure out how. If love where I place, I would know that I needed to find it. That I

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when should things be hard?

When should things be hard? And how hard? When do we move past the threshold of shift and change and growth and into the space of degradation? When are we making things hard because we are too afraid to make them easy? My life spirals when it doesn’t feel hard enough. When there’s too much

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what we miss in “looking” for shift.

We transform. We progress. We evolve not just of the body. Not just within the shape it takes, but within the shape we take. By how we live inside its borders. What if we released. What it we softened. What it we lightened our hold on the shape of our stomach and thought so much

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Why love is dynamic.

Love feels like it should be constant. Perhaps most especially our own. That it should be the same. That it should be unwavering and undaunted. Free from the heaviness of questioning. Of having to answer our doubts and our fears over and over again with practiced layers of grace. It would be so much easier

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What if love couldn’t be found…?

I used to think that love was place. Somewhere to be found. And judiciously protected. Bordered against, bordered by the fear of a surrounding landscape of heartbreak. But what if love were a rhythm. A melody. A beat. Not to be found Or protected. but played. but sung.

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find someone who can hold your bigness.

Bigness. The knowing of oneself. Is heavy. Not in a way that is neat and contained and balanced. But instead, asymmetrical. Irregular. Wiggly. It can’t simply be picked up. Without thought. Or intention. Or bracing one’s back. Or by just anyone. To be made light. To be held. That person needs to have done the

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We must hurtle into love with ourselves.

If we fall into love with another human, we must hurtle into love with ourselves. Gravity isn’t a strong enough force to bring us down to the ground of our own deservedness. Nor to keep us there. Because love is a choice. Maybe not in the presence of another human, but always, always in the

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Brokenness is a reason for, not an obstacle of love.

How is it that we begin to know ourselves? Not in a way that is fixed. That can be stated with blunt and uninteresting certainty. But rather, how can we know ourselves in that same surprising spaciousness as knowing a lover. There is such sweetness to uncovering the broken pieces of a lover. Not because

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what we miss in”adulthood.”

To be an adult, my love, you do not need to smooth over all of the parts of yourself that are rough. Smoothness does not equate to love. Yours or anyone else’s. You do not need to patch together all of your brokenness. That will not make you whole. That will not make you strong.

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why we do the work.

Why do we do the work? That messy, inconvenient work that is to wander around in our own heads and our own histories. Unpacking our lives in the hopes of making sense of them. In the hopes of being better, fuller humans because of them. Wouldn’t it be easier to leave them neatly packed? Concealed.

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