She said to be human is to be perfectly imperfect. To be human is to feel, not in the metaphysical sense or some cooked up existential question from the head of a rationalist but to feel alone and also complete all at once. A cognitive dissonance that has echoed through the ages to find us where we are. That we could be human; that we could be both two and one, an exotic cocktail of stardust. Noble as we are made from the stars and humble as we are made from the dirt. It wasn’t from breathing her in that I knew I was human but that I could breath her in at all. She likes the sun and I like the rain, finding each other in our own separate pain. She was looking for a lighthouse and I was looking for the ocean. She is the ocean her tides stretching out ever reaching to wet the shores. Two become one, the shores and sea; the earth and the sky; the night and the day and together we became the dawn of a new life. Human. Love. That we are only human and looking for love. Creating love. Making love. Finding love. Being love.
“The more one forgets himself - by giving himself to a cause to serve or another person to love - the more human he is and the more he actualizes himself. Self-actualization is possible only as a side-effect of self transcendence”
- Viktor Frankl
