If loving is letting go, then I’m sorry, but I must not love you enough.

Some people speak of loving too much. I don’t think that is possible. It’s not that I love you too much to let you go; it’s that I don’t love you enough—or I don’t love you well enough.

I love you jealously. I want to keep the softness of your palms and the smile of your belly button all to myself.

I love you fiercely, with an intensity that belies my otherwise gentle nature.

I love you exclusively. There is no room in my heart for other loves like this—your presence there precludes the possibility—though I hear it is not impossible.

I do not, however, love you detachedly.

I have read words now time and time again written by women who seem capable of a love more generous than mine. Perhaps they are better than me, or less fearful, but I believe we are all of us simply different. I do not love you enough to let you go, but I love you well enough in other ways, I’d say—with other generosities that are within my power to give.

I love you poetically. I break you down into beautiful syllables and reassemble your likeness on these pages.

I love you unreservedly. I hold back nothing, unafraid of hurt, though there are days I wonder if I shouldn’t be.

I love you deeply, this vessel of mine filled to the brim with it, and I love you uniquely. Other affections I have known left more space, but you are enough—enough.

I do not, however, love you detachedly.

Thick cords of knotted silk wrap round my mind, once so free, blocking out all thought of openness. The mere mention of letting go, where you are concerned, unearths a dark and primordial fear within me. It appears insurmountable at present, and I remind myself that every fear must be faced in its own time.

I have learned to let go of belongings and ideas; of friends and memories. But you are heavier than things and more intricate than thoughts; more precious than a friend and more obstinate than memories. My love for you is heavy and intricate and precious and obstinate. Yet it is not brave enough to let go.

I do not love you enough to let you go, but I love you enough—I hope—all the same.

Relephant Read:

Sex, Relationships & Letting Go.

Author: Toby Israel

Editor: Catherine Monkman

Photo: Pixoto/Courtesy of Author/Flickr