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I love your pain.
I love your pain because it tells me who you are. It shows me the softest parts of you that bore the harshest wounds.
I love your pain because it tells me who you are not. I know that your pain has been touched when your defenses arrive. That’s not the real you; it’s the you that hides. It’s the mask you wear until you feel it’s safe to come out again.
It’s safe.
The real you is somewhere under the pain. But the pain is close to where you are, because it touches you. Even closer than the pain is your joy.
Your deep vulnerability is where your joy and pain can dance together unashamed.
I love your mess. Even if you’re not yet ready to love all of your untamed emotions, I will love them all.
I love your fury.
I love your despair.
I love your grief.
I love your shame.
I’m devoted to all of your feelings. They speak like words from a poem—sometimes clear, other times a mystery. They are the messengers whispering and the storms raging.
They tell me your story.
They tell me your hopes.
They tell me your dreams.
They tell me what you need the most.
Borrow my faith. Borrow my trust. I challenge you to see the reflection of love in the deepest waters of my vision. I dare you to look boldly into your beauty; it’s there in my eyes, in the softening of my face, in the silence and stillness of our connection.
I love your needs.
I love your desires.
I love your hunger.
I love your emptiness and the places you overflow.
I love your neediness and all the pieces of you that are too much and not enough.
I love your imbalances and imperfections, your tics and your composure, your judgment and your blush of shame.
But, most of all, I love you. Just you. Pure, simple, complicated, gorgeous, divine, lovable you.
I don’t want to fix you, because you’re not broken. You just need a brave love to take you as you are.
I am here.
I’m not going anywhere.
And I’ll stay here as long as you need—and even after.
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