To the One Who’s Trying to Understand the Kind of Love They Long For

Dear friend,

There’s a kind of love that drips—slow, rationed, tight-fisted. It trains you to sip carefully, to keep your needs small, to ache quietly in the corner.

And still call it love.

There’s a kind of love that sprays—erratic, wild, insistent.
It drenches you with noise but never sees you. It makes a show of affection, but leaves you starving for presence.
You are soaked, yet untouched.

Flooded, yet unfed.

And then—there’s the kind of love that pours.

Not with performance. Not with pretense. But with the kind of quiet certainty that meets you right at your trembling. It doesn’t ask you to shrink. It doesn’t make you beg.

It just arrives—overflowing, unwavering, unafraid.

But here's the unspoken truth:

Sometimes when a pour arrives, we don't know how to let it in. We flinch. We brace. We question the temperature of something that isn’t trying to burn us.

Because we’ve mistaken pain for passion.
Because we’ve mistaken rationing for real.

So we pour ourselves out in teaspoons, while secretly aching to be swallowed whole. We call a trickle holy because it’s the only thing we were ever handed.

But the kind of love you long for?

It’s not a performance.
It’s a homecoming.

And no, you’re not too much.
You’re not delusional.
You’re not impossible to love.

You’re just remembering what enough feels like.

Let yourself remember.

Let yourself want it.

Let yourself burn for it.

You were never meant to be fed in fractions. You were made for the kind of love that doesn't keep count—
because it never runs out.

Please stop shrinking your hunger to match what was never meant to fill you.

Practice Postscript

Where the letter stops being read—and starts being lived.

The Reflection:

• Where have I mistaken intensity for intimacy?

• When I picture the kind of love I truly long for, what do I feel in my body?

• What part of me still believes I need to earn a full pour?

• Who have I been giving love to in ways I never receive it? Consider all kinds of relationships here.

The Everyday Practice:

When you feel the urge to minimize your needs or dismiss your longing—pause.

Place a hand on your chest. Whisper: I deserve to be met in full. Then ask: What part of me is still afraid of being poured into?
Listen gently. You’re not trying to fix it.

Just meet yourself with truth.

Living in the Question:

What if the love I ache for isn’t missing—just waiting for me to open the door from the inside and pour it out?