I’ve had a rough start to the week with the unexpected passing of a good friend and I probably won’t be in a space or place to write a blog post until Monday night or Tuesday but here’s something I shared on Valentine’s Day:
Love isn’t real; it’s just a chemical glitch —but one that can get you up in the morning. It always ends, until it doesn't, and the person you're holding is the last one. Life on earth will get harder and more chaotic, more tragic and more lonely, and the ability to feel love is one of the few lights in the darkness. Life is turning mundane reality into something magical: finding awe in a sunset because you never know if it's going to be your last; being moved to a warm burning in your chest because this person you love and the moment you share are irreplaceably unique. Love may be a chemical reaction, but then so is the birth of a star or the coalescence of a galaxy, and that puts it on no lower level than anything else in existence. Love isn’t real; it is, in fact, the point of everything.
I wish I could take credit for this, but I actually strung several posts I saw online over the last couple weeks together into one thought.
Running In My Head 
people get so backwards about love, like, yes, there’s a physical component, some neurotransmitters, some hormones; sure it will be possible one day to define the manifest bodily experience of feeling love, and: so what! that it exists in the world as a physical manifestation doesn’t make it any less true and good and yea even transcendent
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