I hope you don’t mind,

but I wanna talk a little about love this morning.
It’s messy, you know, messy and complicated and it comes in all shapes and sizes and colors – all different containers – good love, kind love, sexy love, romantic love, generous love, passionate love, forgiving love.
Unconditional love – that kinda love doesn’t have an expiration date.

Love is work.
Hard work.

Anyone tells you it’s easy isn’t talking about love. Maybe they’re talking about sex. People confuse the two sometimes; it’s easy to confuse the two. Love is not something you can leave out in the sun, hoping it grows. You gotta tend to it. Water it. Weed it. Nurture it. You gotta bring it in when it’s raining or storming, or real nasty out. Love doesn’t do well with nasty or shitty or cruel. You gotta protect it, coddle it, hold it tight, and yeah, make sure you give it room to breathe.

Love needs to breathe – that’s how it grows and flourishes.
Contrary to all rumors and crazy-ass notions that are rattling around right now in rooms big enough to fill a rally, love will always beat hate. Always. No competition there. Love is the knock-out punch, the elixir, the salve, the balm. The end all be all, the whole motherfucker enchilada.

Love is fierce. Love is mighty. Love is gritty and gutsy and love is crazy-glue – it is what binds us and keeps us connected, keeps us holding on on the days when holding on seems almost impossible. When love has a grip on you there is no telling what you can do. It hits you when you least expect it. It shows up without warning. And if you can stand still for just few seconds it’ll get you right in the heart.

But here’s the rub: if you gotta beg for it, grovel for it, plead for it, bleed for it, get down on your knees for it … that is not love. Love wants you standing tall and standing up and standing proud and standing on your tippy toes grabbing for the moon and the stars and all that glitters and love wants you to share your wounds and your scars and say: ‘I won these, I earned these’ because those wounds and scars teach you something so fucking important, they teach you self-love; they remind you of the power that you have to love yourself fully, full on full in, no strings attached, all in; love is self-honor.
And to not sound too sappy, or corny, love sure the fuck makes the world go round.

We all need love and all love needs is to find a home.
Be that home.

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