He writes, "Love is what rules you, guides you, grounds you. If they aren't dripping in love, they don't need to be around you."
What is the pain of living?
The wall cracks, bursts under pressure in a way you can't see, but you can hear. The sound reaching your ears, signaling that something is shifting, moving, you may need to step out of the way. But you don't know in which direction or when.
You feel the imminence, the surprise, the fear, the anticipation. For a moment the heart races off beat, and then quickly rejoins the line. I mean, really, how can you know? Not knowing is okay too.
When the wall finally heaves and gives way, it's like watching a marshmallow wither in the flames. Not set on fire or charred. Just sinking into itself and finding that itself was barely anything in the first place.
What hurts is the ooze. Without angle or form, it reaches away from itself, in every direction stretching, tugging, exasperating. The pain is not the deep crushing cramp of contracture.
It's the boundlessness, the desire to be everywhere and everything. The thin breathy wisps of you that people think are you, see as you, but are really you oozing out of yourself. Like dying.
