Write until all that remains is love; Love always remains.
Write until the clouds shift, until the sun comes out to play. Write until there is no more anger, no more pain, no more fear, no more anxiety, no more excuses, no more boundaries. Write, and write, and write, until all that remains…is Love.
It’s explosive. Love is beautiful.
It’s all the good, the bad, the scary, the sad, wrapped up and bundled into a giant confusing package.
But amidst all the confusion and turmoil, there is that steadfast, security that sometimes feels like a literal rock. A rock that, no matter how hard it is pushed, the one pushing only ricochets because it is so much stronger than any human.
That rock, is Love.
Love itself is strong, much stronger than humans are sometimes capable. Humans fall short of Love itself — if Love were to stand alone, it could be much like the Himalayas with ambivalent directions pointing left, right, centre, when all you had to do was keep going up; or deep as the Grand Canyon with a bunch of trampolines in case one does “accidentally fall in Love”.
But the journey to Love is sometimes treacherous; ask any adventurer or explorer. Getting stuck in potholes, sinking in quicksand; frost bite, rope burn, to name a few. It’s the journey that is the adventure. Love is free of cost, but not free of journey. It is not a state in which one can teleport; it is a “destination” that one reaches.
To a writer, writing is that journey. It is that path one writes, scribbling lines paving the way to the heart of a writer. It is the concoction of words concatenating the thoughts, the feels, the warm embraces. It is the bridges we cross and walk around in circles trying to find our ways around the place, trying to write out the steps to the destination.
To write, is to love.
To love, is to heal.
To write, is to heal to love.
Write until all that remains is love.
All. That. Remains.