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She tastes like cool spring water held to your lips after a lifetime of wandering in the desert.
Maybe there is something slightly innocent about her—yet her eyes sing with mystery. A deep secret.
Her gaze swims through you, slowly, then quickly in all directions—until you are saturated—sopping wet with salt and seaweed and startlingly beautiful glimpses of something more real than reality.
She tugs at your shirt playfully and invites you to walk to the edges of the earth with her, on sand that sticks to your feet underneath turbulent storm clouds and clear sapphire skies alike.
She loves fiercely. Deeply. Fully. She will give herself to you completely.
Don’t take it for granted.
Hers is a sensitive heart, crafted from deep red clay, from all the textures and experiences that made her who she is—the ups, the downs, the pain, the love, the loss, the learning, the yearning, the disappointments, sadness, and breathtaking beauty.
She is an ocean unto herself—an ocean of tenderness, of strength, of healing, of goddamn feeling.
She feels it all. Existence itself pours into her in those quiet moments when she gazes up at the stars and swallows the evening air into her whole being.
She lets the universe pitter-patter in her heart and does not fear the tears.
Tears are her strength. Her sustenance. Her joy. Her lifeblood pulses with the crystalline salt of those great lakes.
They are medicine. Tears are her nourishment.
So don’t think you need to mop them up or stop their flow—oh, no—that would cut her off from the precious waters she requires to survive.
Hold her hand while she cries, and tell her she’s brave.
And know that it hurts like hell sometimes. It’s not all sparkly love and light to bathe in the gut-wrenching, tender vividness of this life—in all the messy, constantly turning, kaleidoscopic hues, textures, flavors, and sensations.
So don’t ever call her “too sensitive.” Because she’s not.
She’s just sensitive enough to sit with others in those painful, broken spaces she knows so well.
To love a woman who feels it all is to know she will wander off sometimes, in search of a quiet refuge to fill the depths of her glorious heart once again.
‘Cause every now and then, she will forget about herself and burn out tending to everyone else.
But she is learning to hold her tender heart with care—and embrace it.
Yes.
To love a woman who feels it all is to open your heart, finally, to life again.
Oh yes, it is to crack bare the closed spaces, let a gust of fresh air touch your wounds, and be truly alive.
It is to delight in the rising lips of bright orange tulips.
It is to taste sunsets in your mouth like melty raspberry sorbet.
It is to look strangers in the eye and see them.
It is to stop avoiding pain or fear—and radically embrace emotion as a gushing, galactic force of beauty, of change, of devotion.
To love a woman who feels it all is like bathing in a deep blue sea where the waves are warm and wild.
It is to be loved for exactly who you are.
It is to remember the long-lost power of kindness, care, and the undying tenderness forever preserved in her gaze.
It is to see that the world is harsh, frantic, and even cruel, but we don’t have to be that way.
To love a woman who feels it all is not to fester forever in blistering bitterness or hate, but to plunge into the fresh, cleansing waters of understanding, empathy, and hope.
She embodies softness—and that’s what makes her so badass.
She lets the cosmos dance inside her; she lets the awkward, stumbling humanness of life gush through her—the good, the bad, the ugly, the incredible, and the mundane.
She weeps for no reason. She weeps for heartbreak, for trauma, for sadness, for joy, for the man whose smile looked broken on the subway.
See, she does not get lost in emotion—she is found there. She is found in the blooming, naked tenderness of it all.
To love a woman who feels it all is an invitation to your own heart.
So take it.
Go, put your hand sweetly in hers. Two palms entwined as the sun heats up like gold at a quarter past noon.
Go on the ride of a lifetime. Swim in those expansive, sparkling seas. Dive deep and adore her completely!
To love a woman who feels it all—
Well, it means that every day is an adventure to be felt, tasted, and known both through the senses and the soul.
It is to know that all too often, her kindness has been mistaken for weakness, her softness for foolishness and naivety.
Luckily, she’s stubborn and will always keep peeling her heart open,
To you,
To herself,
To the ecstatic pulse of God.
Hold that tender heart of hers like a treasure!
She feels it all. Oh yes—
She knows the dark depths of agony, she knows peace, she knows laughter, brokenness, fear, doubt, and every damn thing in between.
She speaks in colors, paintings, songs, poems, and dance. Emotion is her language, uttered through tears and pursed lips at 2 a.m., pulsed through her body in a million dynamic ways.
To love a woman who feels it all is to embrace an existence full of wonder, truth, heart, and the raw, messy splendor of being alive.
To love a woman who feels it all
Is the bravest, sweetest journey of your entire life.
~
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