An open letter to any children I may or may not have:
Please believe me when I say that you do not want to fall into the kind of love where you come second. It will slowly poison you, turn you bitter and hateful, your love weak and scarce. Your fingers will gradually clench tighter and tighter from fear and resentment; fear of loss and resentment of losing yourself. Each day you will find it harder and harder to breath, your chest tightened with the desperation of holding on. Each and every waking moment you will find yourself angry. But you won’t care. Your love is bigger, you think, bigger than yourself and therefore more important. But it is a lie. You tell this to yourself at night, before you fall asleep, to keep from hating yourself, to keep yourself from suffocating under the weight of your “love”, but it won’t work. It won’t work.
Please don’t even fall into the kind of love where you come second because you are worth so much more than who you love or who love you back. You are more than worthy of your own light and warmth, of your own love, of your own strength. You are a sun, my dearest child, a sun the radiates kindness, and some may despise you for it. They will attempt to block you out, but do not let them; let your compassion be your defiance.
Be warned, though, for there are others more subtle that will crave your warmth. They will bury themselves deep in your love and take what they can from you, giving nothing in return; but this is not love, and do not mistake it for such. Love is when your light shines brighter when you touch them, your warmth grows just by seeing them. Your heart will soar and your eyes will gleam. And if they love you in return, sweet child, you will not drown in it, oh no, you will not drown. You will float higher than the highest wave until you find yourself on the tallest mountain. And if you ever find yourself sliding down that mountain, have faith; there are many ups and downs to life, and this is life.
But should you ever find yourself dipping back below sea level, drowning, then do one of two things: one, fight the hardest you’ve ever fought to get back up the mountain. Or two, if you’re tired, and you need rest: don’t. Let yourself sink slowly and safely to the bottom of the deep ocean. Leave. Let yourself rest. Do not stay with someone whom you feel is dragging you down. It is up to you though, darling, to make the choice. And try not to worry too much; this is just another down, and there will be many more ups.
Love yourself first my sweet, and do not be afraid to fight for whomever you love after.