One thing about me—
I don’t have another way of loving.
I was told once
my problem is that I give too much,
too fast,
too fiercely.
The kind of love that makes you feel—
deeply.
Unconditionally.
Pure at the core.
Loyalty that doesn’t flinch.
The kind of love that doesn’t leave.
And when I realized that this wasn’t just who I am
but my greatest strength
and my Achilles’ heel,
I started negotiating with time.
How do I love less?
How do I give less,
offer less,
hold back compassion,
slow down the warmth,
ration trust?
How do I stop handing pieces of myself
so willingly,
so quickly?
I tried to learn restraint.
I tried to dilute it.
But recently I understood—
it’s impossible.
This is my only language.
This is my only way.
Eloquent.
Hungry.
A fire that leaves some burned
and others aching for more.
I don’t love halfway.
I don’t arrive quietly.
I don’t have another way of loving.
Jan 31
Jan 31, 2026 at 1:40 PM UTC
One thing about me—
I don’t have another way of loving.
I was told once
my problem is that I give too much,
too fast,
too fiercely.
The kind of love that makes you feel—
deeply.
Unconditionally.
Pure at the core.
Loyalty that doesn’t flinch.
The kind of love that doesn’t leave.
And when I realized that this wasn’t just who I am
but my greatest strength
and my Achilles’ heel,
I started negotiating with time.
How do I love less?
How do I give less,
offer less,
hold back compassion,
slow down the warmth,
ration trust?
How do I stop handing pieces of myself
so willingly,
so quickly?
I tried to learn restraint.
I tried to dilute it.
But recently I understood—
it’s impossible.
This is my only language.
This is my only way.
Eloquent.
Hungry.
A fire that leaves some burned
and others aching for more.
I don’t love halfway.
I don’t arrive quietly.
I don’t have another way of loving.
