I Read That There Is Terror In True Love…

I Read That There Is Terror In True Love…

That there is dread in intimacy, horror in touch. That there is dismay in whispers and panic in lovemaking. Agitation with the kiss of a mouth.

Not on the surface, of course.

That’s joy and laughter, and happiness.

But below. In the depths of your mind, where we fear loss.

I read that there is terror in love—a great yawning chasm filled with mindless grasping horrors, the threat of the unknown, of the dissolution of the self as monsters rend you limb from limb.

That the ultimate love is one in which the greatest nightmares are of worlds where the lovers never met or a are torn apart, where a body wakes in a cold sweat, sheets tangled and the heart still pounding.

And somewhere inside me, the beast howls.

“YES! This madness. This love. This is what I want!”

But it is just a beast, after all, and while that idea appeals to the creature craving subjugation and need deep inside my primal brain, the dominant in me, the lover in me wants something more.

Something better.

I want my love to heal you so deeply that there are never any nightmares again. That having had me as a part of your life makes everything better, whether it ends in tragedy or in a quiet passing, the both of us holding hands, together.

I want my love to create a world for you where you know what it is to always feel safe and loved and accepted and desired for you.

And for that to never leave you, even if I must. For that depth of understanding to carry you through life, a whole being, confident that YOU ARE ENOUGH and you are loved.

Without fear, or rather beyond fear.

To me, that is the ultimate love.

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