Love isn’t well suited to clear categories.
It is messy and ill defined.
Its edges move and swell as it grows. And when you are open to it, it makes itself confusingly abundant in your life.
I once tried to apply logic to my heart, sorting the thoughts and feelings into a well-formed argument, something that would be irrefutable and obvious. But love doesn’t take logic well, and all I found was that as I tried to dissect it further, understanding it escaped me even more.
I have fallen in love with friends and lovers, with philosophers and archers and musicians, with people who recognize the power and magic in this world.
And I have fallen in love with the world itself. Its cities and mountains and ruins and rivers. Its woods and deserts and oceans vast enough to understand what lies beneath my surface.
Over and over again. So fiercely have I loved its beauty that not drinking every moment hurts.
All I know is my love it is deep and true and unshakeable. And that I need nothing in return.
True love never lives in silence but pour forth into the world.