If love is vast, then so is grief. If love is a force, then so is the emptiness it leaves behind.

After laying down all my cards and spilling my love into words, hoping to place it somewhere other than my heart, I learned that it is simply too much; That no matter how I try to set it aside or fight it, love seeps into the smallest spaces. It spills through the cracks, demanding to be acknowledged. And every time I give it even an ounce of attention, it takes over me, growing into something bigger than myself.
I tried to outrun it, drown it in reason, bury it beneath time, but it lingers in the quiet moments until it consumes me whole. I'm left with no choice but to give in, fall to my knees, and let it take me at its mercy. I guess misery never really ends when all we do is call into voids without hearing another echo.

Could I stir fate into action by declaring that I have finally learned to hold love with careful hands? That I am better now? I want to be exactly what they need. I want to pour myself into every glass that needs filling, this time, neither too much nor too little. I want to be someone uneasy to let go of, to become the same love that haunts me in my silence. It's Valentine's day, and I have no other desires but to meet love where it stands.