There was always this dialogue in my mind, said half jestfully, to a nebulous entity I wished to love deeply.

 "How much do I love you? Too much."

 I wished to contain the truth and my fear in one statement. Loving someone brings me joy, it also brings me the fear of not being loved. In that paradox I lived half my life, but I shall not do that for the second half. I suppose I wish to love you just enough, but only reach that point side by side. Toil and trouble it may be, but who cares, amiright?

~

Reading Master and Margherita brings me back to this thought. 

The idea of the devil seems so merciful in this. But the part about Yeshua and Pontius Pilate really captured me. 

~

Well, I guess I wish to love you just enough. And I wish for you to love me too much. Hehe. But love should be a privilege not a curse, I would not wish for you to be burdened. So, I suppose I hope you love me just enough too. 

Maybe the truth of life is simply honouring that which feels divine.