The first time I told JT I loved him, he asked me if I knew what I was saying. It was too soon he said, and he was afraid I was too caught up in the moment, not realizing the full extent of what I said, the commitment underlying the simple declaration. He told me that maybe I made a mistake, that maybe I didn't really mean what I said. He gave me an opening to take it back.
I didn't, because there was no need to. I loved him then, and whether he loved me back wasn't the issue. It was the truth and I needed to say it. I thought that he loved me (and he did) but more than that, I needed to take stock of what I felt, and I realized my pride was a small price to pay for something as important as having his love.
And this is what I learned: we sometimes sacrifice the possibility of our happiness for the illusion that our arrogance has more value than what it is really worth. Why do we put too much importance on our pride? Our dignity and self-worth are not necessary sacrifices before the altar of love, but our pride, at least the part that teaches us the lie that no one is truly worthy of us, is.
It is necessary to put up walls sometimes, but it is rarely a good idea when it comes to love.
Love is not sacrifice, and it is a mistake to equate the two. Love is not the annihilation of the self, and to believe that it is necessary to lose one's individuality in order to satisfy the whole is to mistake love for slavery, and to love is never to be a slave. Love is the elevation of the self, where the sum of the parts are greater than the whole, but the parts are already whole in themselves. If you are looking for love idealizing the emotion as the pinnacle of self-sacrifice, then you are not really looking for someone to love; you are a slave looking for a master. You are incapable of love; an incomplete man or woman cannot claim to love someone when they are incapable of loving themselves.
You laugh at the idea of soulmates because the concept was not written in a dusty book that a bunch of old men has declared was true. You emphasize the silliness of the belief in a one true love, because the belief wasn't repeated every week for an hour at a day declared to be sacred. You admonish the difficulty of believing in a kind of love so lacking of proof, thinking how silly it is to believe in something so utterly untrue.
Yet in the same breath you talk of faith, and how faith necessarily means believing in something that has no proof. As if faith was a concept only applicable to a religion thousands of years old. As if love wasn't older than the religion you so easily profess your faith to.
I'm not saying you're wrong. I'm just hoping you appreciate the irony.
Photo taken here.