intensity

Before, being intense bothered me. It made me uncomfortable, preventing me from to be at ease in my body. I always erred on the side of coldness. I can’t be expressive; it feels forced. Only when I read Benedetti did I understand what was happening to me.

“It’s hard for me to be affectionate, even in romantic life. I always give less than I have. My way of loving is like that, a bit reticent, saving the most for big occasions. So if I were always expressing the most, what would I leave for those moments (there are always four or five in life, for each individual) when one must appeal to the heart in full? I also feel a slight unease towards the corny, and to me, corny is exactly that: always going around with your heart on your sleeve.”

— The Truce: The Diary of Martín Santomé - Mario Benedetti

Every so often, in one of those walks where I stop to think, I look down and see myself there, with my heart in my hand. And that, as I started saying, used to bother me.

Sometimes we forget that all that intensity we unleash on another actually comes from within us. That energy is what we have to offer in any context. It’s the same energy that appears when you hug your pet, when you cook something with love to make it turn out well.

That love is really ours, and the other person is simply a reflection of what we have to give.