I don’t know anyone of my age who loves like I do, with the unbridled fury and abandonment of a child, with the hope and hopelessness of a girl when she first sees a boy or a man who steals her heart, with the passionate lustiness of a woman neglected of affection and sex for years, with the devotion of a wife secure in her husband’s undying love.
And all this I give in moments upon meeting someone beautiful to me, whether he gives me the same in return (which rarely happens) or not.
Many would call me foolish – to trust so quickly, to love so deeply and so fast.
Though I do not judge others for not doing the same, I wonder why others do not, as we are whom we are when we meet someone, and all the pretense in the world will never change it… and the truth of our person, of our personality will alway arise eventually. So, why not put everything out front, on the table, as soon as possible?
All I know is that I must, that it is the only thing that feels alive, that feels like life, that feels true, that makes me happy.
All I know is that my romances, my love stories are epic – every single one a magical fairy-tale that could be made into literature or soap operas, that could be made into sweet romantic dramas and tales to rival the best Greek tragedies.
All I know is that I love, that I must love…
And that I am learning how to slow down only so much as to let myself be loved by some of the great men on this planet.
To all of my lovers and to all of my loves; to all of those who loved and lusted after me from afar: I love you. Every one of you has shaped me; every one of you has let me love and cry and agonize and lust and feel and sense and hate – and live.
I love you all.
Oceans of Mine 