Oct 6 2025 - The Next Time I Love

I think…

I will be afraid.

…and maybe… that will be the first time I’m truly afraid to love.

Why?

Maybe because I’ve loved enough times — crazy enough to know all the ways it can go… wrong.

Maybe because I’ve jumped from enough cliffs, hoping wings would grow.

Before, I loved like someone learning the terrain of their own heart by walking barefoot —

discovering cliffs only when I fell from them.

I bled, rebuilt, learned, and went again.

I was becoming myself through love.

By living deeply, acting to the full extent of my emotions, I came to know my own depth — my needs, my intensity, my hunger for meaning.

I’ve gotten to know all my parts — how they wanted to be loved by the ways they never were.

I’ve been too much: too overwhelming, too emotional, too possessive, too attached, too insecure, too lost, too obsessive, too pride-less.

I’ve learned the power of holding nothing back — of showing my nurturing, my hurting, my sadness, my anger, my disappointment, and all the parts I once tried to hide.

I’ve felt the discomfort of pretending I don’t care, of pretending you don’t hurt me.

I’ve tried to follow and play many games from many people — gone against my nature — but eventually, I realized I didn’t want to.

Each time I tried differently: so many identities, so many molds, so many shapes.

And when I look back, there isn’t a single part of me I haven’t seen, shared, or met within myself.

But why — why will I be afraid the next time I love?

After I have been so brave? Why now, this time?

Maybe now I don’t want to rebuild again? Maybe this time, I want the wings to be already there?

Maybe because I now know the cost of openness, of trust —

of tearing down the walls that automatically rise after every failure, misunderstanding, heartbreak, disappointment?

The effort it takes to keep choosing to believe.

To keep trying.

To keep dreaming.

To keep giving.

To pick myself up.

To keep being myself.

I know both sides of the coin —

or maybe I just know one side all too well,

and I really want to feel the other one this time.

No… I don’t think that’s it.

Maybe I just loved fearlessly before

because that’s my nature —

my way of learning what love could make of me.

Before, I was never afraid — always chasing connection like a first instinct. Like breathing.

Heartbreak was a small price to pay.

It broke me every time, it hurt deeply —

but for real connection, I would do it again and again.

In doing so,

I’ve destroyed who I was — every time —

and found so many pieces of me I’ve come to love and accept.

I grew discernment.

I developed standards, discovered my needs and my boundaries,

and learned to value my energy, my time, my presence.

I learned my worth.

I became mesmerized by my own nature — my intensity, my capacity to love. My resilience…

I have fallen in love with myself.

But why?

Why now do I feel afraid then?

Have I reached the end of my rope?

Lost hope?

Or simply gained too much wisdom?

No, its not that.

Now that I’ve met myself,

I can only imagine what it will feel like when someone embraces all of me —

the same way I have.

When I can share my certainties and insecurities,

my strength and my weakness,

my tiredness and my softness,

my intensity and my quiet.

My too-muchness.

I’m afraid because I want it so deeply — to be met with the same truth, openness, fearlessness — and I don’t know if there’s someone who can do that?

No.

I’m afraid because I know there is someone who can.

The first time I’m met at the same depth,

the first time someone truly sees me for who I am,

the first time someone matches my craziness, my presence, my care.

I will know the value of that.

I will feel how precious it is.

I will be fully aware of its magnitude

That feeling — so safe, so real.

I’ve walked through heartbreak after heartbreak.

I know the terrain.

I know how to survive it, rebuild from it,

and walk away stronger.

But to be loved that way,

to be met as I meet myself — fiercely —

if someone finally mirrors that back to me,

if someone finally loves me the way I see and love myself —

that would be new territory.

The first time I’m truly loved.

Thats what terrifies me the most.

More terrifying than love without being loved,

or being unseen, misunderstood, unappreciated, or unheld.

Am I prepared to be loved?