ᡣ𐭩 •｡ꪆৎ ˚⋅

ᡣ𐭩 •｡ꪆৎ ˚⋅

I feel that shifting is the truest form of love.

And, no, I don't mean love as in the butterflies in your stomach thinking of your s/o; getting giddy thinking of scenarios; that excitement with every symptom or anything like that.

I mean the way we yearn for a life unlived, an experience un-had, a thought unimagined. One that had supposedly only existed in the space between our eyes and eyelids: a place our hands can't grasp, and our lips can't kiss. A place where attachment was futile, yet we latched on with reckless abandon, every fiber of our being poured into it. A place which does, indeed, exist within and without.

The way we long for those we care about. To feel their skin, their presence, them, and know that they are here. To see their eyes crinkle and their nose scrunch. To hear their voice calling your name. To smell that scent that's sorely familiar. To taste a sliver of their personalities, their being, a promise of a life beyond our expectations.

The way we crave something new; knowledge, skills, reality. The Library of Alexandria pales in comparison to the sheer amount knowledge available to us. Every hobby, every desire, could be pursued on a whim, mastering crafts we've never even heard of. The unending thirst to learn, create, and know satiated by the fountain of wisdom at our feet.

The way we ache for something bigger than ourselves, for shifting is an experience so universal, yet so mystifying. Everything that we have been led to believe about reality deconstructed before our eyes, a house of cards toppling to reveal the beauty of shifting.

To want a life, a person, an ideal so much that you are willing to alter your very perception of reality for it?

Isn't that love?