LGBT, Gay, Writing, Poetry, Journal, Snark

Love is Risk


Love is risk.

It means taking the chance you might get hurt or that you may expose yourself to the possibility of being hurt, intentional or unintentional.

It means that you have a connection that is complex. Love is never simple. It tangles and ensnares and binds you to another. It creates ties that will last even past the time it feels it should be gone.

It means you are concerned for those that you love.

It means you look out of for them. You put them above others that might try to claim your attention when things are happening. You make sure they are ok and that they are not hurting. You show your love by your actions.

It means you have the hard conversations, the ones that might hurt. You seek to better know the ones you love, to help them heal, to help them grow, to help them be themselves more fully.

It means you give trust. Love does not grow in a vacuum. It takes tending and care so that it can become the most awesome thing in all of creation.

It means forgiving mistakes, misunderstandings and the various little ways that human interaction can get fucked up. But it also means trying your best not to repeat those things you know are wrong for that love.

It means stepping outside of your comfort zone and really living. It has to grow or become stunted and withers.

It means you see the person as something other than as a possession. They are themselves, they belong to themselves, they share themselves but you do not own them in the sense that you can cage their feelings. Love sets you free, it does not imprison.

It means that you attempt to change together or allow each other to part, still with love and without bitterness, regret or the million other negative emotions that can poison interaction.

Love means risk.
I take that risk gladly.

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