Existential doubts are a fabrication of my mind. Life is beautiful. Love is perfect and absolute and tender and admits all the shades I value.
There is no beginning and no end. How can that be. How were we born. We were not born. All this is thinking without love. Love has no finality. Love is. Love does not count. Love is. Love does not make history. Love is.
All my doubts are false. Love is in my heart already. What love wants, is true. It cuts through my heart to think I am wrong, to think I will be disappointed. It cuts because I’m doubting of love, not because what I think is true. Each time I doubt of love, I feel pain. To tell me, don’t doubt of love. Trust love. Trust love so entirely you become love.