On love.
Love isn’t a dirty word. It isn’t a magical one either.
It is triggered by things, situations, persons and ideas that connect with your inner self. It describes feelings that can be assessed, processed, thought of and scaled to their right measures. Love relates to a whole range of emotions, and casts a wide net over our everyday life.
I love my children. I love my brothers and sister. I love my parents. I love spaghetti carbonara. I love football. I love the feeling I get after a good workout. After cleaning my house. I love my friends, and I love my employers and my workmates. I love working and I love being home. I love watching sports on television. I love the Paris St Germain and the Melbourne football clubs. I love music, and I love written words and I love numbers. I love dark spaces, and I love bright lights. I love depth and connections, and quiet understandings.
I love Claire.
Talking and writing about love after a separation feels like putting myself, eyes wide open, in the headlights of a fast moving big vehicle. But it isn’t. No one will die here. There is no weakness in acknowledging love after a separation, and there must be no shame in there either. On the contrary it seems to be an essential, and rather profound step on my recovery journey.
I need to accept that part of me that still loves Claire, for it is that part of me that needs understanding, compassion and healing. There won’t be peace until I stop fighting with myself.
I was in love with you. I’m not in love with you anymore. I still love you.
There is a great paradox in love.