Pure love is absolute freedom. It gives the object of its affection unbridled power to come and go as it pleases. Even if that means that the object of its affection chooses to walk away from that source of pure love.
Let me tell you what love is not. It is not stifling and controlling and domineering. It does not mask itself under pretenses of worry or care while it slowly squeezes the life from you under the weight of possessive control. It does not lash out at you when you have failed to carry out its expectations. It does not determine your life for you while your self-will dies a slow and torturous death.
That is obsession.
It only took me a thousand deaths to finally realize the difference.
If you’ve never truly hated someone with the deepest of bitter resentment and the hottest fire of burning rage–then do you truly know what it is to love someone?
If ever the black crashing waves of the purest loathing have never pummeled you, sucking you under in the fierce current of their bottomless depths, then tell me–how do you ascend into that sweet paradise of sublime beauty in equal measure?
To love deeply is to risk letting the pits of hell take you into their unrelenting embrace.
To crash unexpectedly into that fiery inferno, arms and legs akimbo as you pinwheel helplessly through the air.
To feel a thousand deaths as you watch your dreams sputter and die, winking out one by one.
But the glaring tragedy here is not having to survive such unbearable loss, no–the real tragedy here is to never have felt that kind of consuming love at all.