I used to -- in a very fist-pounding way -- insist that Adam was my only love, that no one else ever touched my heart the way he did, and does. But I have to admit that while he's the one I married and the one who has most wholly accepted me for who and what I am, he is not the only person I think of with love.
I'm finding that it's better to open and accept than to slap away and reject out of hand, from anger. There is room for everyone, for everything.
Love falls atop itself. It builds a base, a structure. It comes over time. It strengthens. It teaches. It expands. It grows angry and resolves. It simply is.
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