I need to write about love. I need to think and think and write and write about love. Otherwise my soul may not survive.
I wrote about 11 Minutes by Paulo Coelho here and since then this quote has stuck in my mind. The main character writes this in her diary after months (or years) with internal conflict with herself. Convincing herself there is no room for love in her life. She was simply meant to be alone. (or at least that is how I remember it).
I feel like she does at times. I feel like the real world or reality tends to suck so much out of my soul at times that I need an evening or even a weekend to replenish my being. PK calls me a sap all the time, but I can’t help it. I don’t want to help it. There is something beautiful about watching people fall in love, be in love, and stay in love.
So you’ll find a lot of the things I write about are based around the subject of love because I tend to write and think about love. Love for myself, love for my friends/family, love for what I do and who I am, and love for people — all people. Because without it I fear our souls may not survive.