yellow socks.

What a curse it would be to fall in love, curse as in a true dysphemism, unpleasant and derogatory. To not belong to yourself. To spend your life picturing a vivid contour of what love looks like, only for your heart to unwillingly contradict your mind and fall head first in love with the last person you expect. But what a curse it would be to never fall in love, to spend your life waiting and never lend your heart and soul to anything or anyone. To never lose yourself to passion, never share a feeling of uncontrollable emotion, never run a temperature and lay awake all night, a slave to obsessive adoration. Being cursed for eternity to lose yourself seems like a small price to pay, to live in the fulfilling world of people who have been blessed with the pain of being in love and being loved.

To embrace every little feeling you've ever fallen in love with feeling, to never regret, to love yourself fully and unconditionally, to take life moment by moment, to let the music fill your soul, to feed your desires, to never be afraid of the future, to believe everything happens for a reason, to never worry about the unknown, to challenge your boundaries everyday, to wear what you feel good in, to meditate, to be the person you feel like being, to never waste the slightest bit of time, to constantly create, to be passionate about every action you undertake, to dance around the kitchen, to sing as loud as you can, to run as fast as you can, to love as much as you can and to live as much as you can.  Then, and only then, will be the time I settle for somewhat satisfied.