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Sometimes in life we ​​launch ourselves into love like someone who jumps into the void, without looking at the meters or the height we have left to reach the ground. When we jump we do not feel that we are crazy, we are dreamers who believe that this love will give us the wings that will allow us to plan, because no, we are not stupid, although sometimes we almost come to believe that we can really fly, we know that someday we will fall, but that doesn’t matter to us. We have faith in those wings that do not exist but that the love we feel will give us.
And like crazy people, who we think we are not, as we spend more time feeling that love, we end up trying to convince ourselves that perhaps this fall does not exist for us, for that love. Perhaps that emptiness into which we throw ourselves is not serious, that we are the exception that confirms the rule. We do not stop to think that perhaps what we feel is not love. It is a desperate search for a feeling similar to love, an unrestrained search for passion, for intensity. We simply want to find that kind of love in which, after searching for it, in the end we end up losing ourselves.
And we don’t see that, instead of seeking the greatest love adventure of our lives, we should simply learn that it is not the love we feel for someone who will give us wings. It will be our ability to love ourselves, without fear, without complexes, to love ourselves as we are.

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