She loves love with her whole heart.
She always has, and she always will.
But the most misunderstood part of her enamor for ardor, above all else, is the fact that it’s not merely based around romantic love.
The affluence of her heart has become a facet of her life that she could not live without if she tried; it was once a weak point, but now, it is something beautiful that she takes pride in.
It has become a ubiquitous amalgamation of all the feelings and all the bubbling devotion to hold onto something so deeply felt.
It’s not superficial; in fact, quite the opposite. It’s nearly subcutaneous at times—a physical manifestation of the glee felt with love—and perhaps even intravenous.
It flows through her veins in a manner similar to that of the most potent caffeine imaginable; the second it hits, she feels it, and the second it’s gone, she crashes.
Romantic love only goes so far, and the crash is inexplicably painful.
But, unequivocally, the most generative crash is from that of a platonic soulmate.
She hopes beyond anything else that she never experiences strife as irrevocable as the ache of losing someone with whom she holds such a deep emotional bond.
There is nothing quite as pure as the soul tie between a girl and her best friends—it’s trivialized, and it’s stereotyped frequently, but the passion that can be felt is more of a soft-spoken mutual love for one another over all else.
She holds such an innate sense of sentimentality for every human being—regardless of whether she knows them or even understands why—that love comes easy for her.
And so, she wears her heart on her sleeve and hopes and prays that nobody may hurt it, but, if it must happen, then she will always choose to understand.
Romantic adoration is too much to handle at times; it’s easy to love someone, but sometimes it’s too much pressure to be in love with somebody.
That’s not to say that she doesn’t want to be in love with anybody—if anything, quite the opposite.
She has lived the entirety of her time on this planet feeling deeply.
She feels so deeply.
She feels so deeply that she is perceived as something she is not; it is not a feeling that can be understood by anybody in her life.
Except for a few people.
The only ones who understand the devout transparency of her enthrallment with love are those with whom she’s connected on a feminine and profound level.
How is it that one could love so deeply and become so incredibly attached and connected to someone whom they’ve never been in love with?
But, that’s the thing: she is in love, in a sense. Not romantically, but in a way centered on the raw humanity and intrinsic perfection she sees in her favorite people.
She is in love with the absolute hysteria they somehow manage to find together at the most inappropriate times.
She is in love with the idea that they protect her heart while it’s so openly displayed on her sleeve.
She is in love with the acceptance they make her feel despite her many, many flaws.
She is in love with love.
