Out there somewhere there is a love who will never dream of calling you too much. Who speaks, like you, in poetry and candlewax and stardust. Who runs outside on stormy nights to howl at the moon. Who collects bones and sings incantation and talks to the ancestors. And that lover, when you find him or her, will see you and know you – just as you are and just as you should be.⠀
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And they will say yes. Yes, you. I will go there with you. I have been waiting for this.⠀
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And so while you are waiting, I want you to do this. For me, and for every last too much girl out there.⠀
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You take all that too much and you channel it. You gather every last ember of your too much broken heart and you light that flame. And in doing so you will call forth the others and you sing the song that brings us home.⠀
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And then you – in your infinite, perfect too-muchness – unleash it all on the world. And you go and love too much and you cry too much and you swear too much. Fall in love too fast and get sad too often and laugh too loudly and demand with clarity the exact terms of your own desired existence.⠀
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Don’t you dare consider doing anything but that.⠀
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Because we need you. Everyone of us, man or woman, who has been called too much. You are our reminder, in the most desperate of moment, that we are exactly as we should be.⠀
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Every last too-much bit.⠀
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(photo of my love @iamelizabethc.love and I in maui)
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