It is not the love of the one or of the many

Meditation is one of the most extraordinary things, and if you do not know what it is you are like the blind man in a world of bright colour, shadows and moving light. It is not an intellectual affair, but when the heart enters into the mind, the mind has quite a different quality: it is really, then, limitless, not only in its capacity to think, to act efficiently, but also in its sense of living in a vast space where you are part of everything. Meditation is the movement of love. It isn’t the love of the one or of the many. It is like water that anyone can drink out of any jar, whether golden or earthenware: it is inexhaustible. And a peculiar thing takes place which no drug or self-hypnosis can bring about: it is as though the mind enters into itself, beginning at the surface and penetrating ever more deeply, until depth and height have lost their meaning and every form of measurement ceases. In this state there is complete peace not contentment which has come about through gratification but a peace that has order, beauty and intensity. It can all be destroyed, as you can destroy a flower, and yet because of its very vulnerability it is indestructible. This meditation cannot be learned from another. You must begin without knowing anything about it, and move from innocence to innocence.

- Jiddu Krishnamurti - Meditations

Don’t.
Don’t burn the pictures.
Don’t rip the handwritten love letters up.
Don’t destroy the memories that made you the happiest; because time heals but also brings regret.

Because you can’t go back & you’ll never have another 1st love. Years will pass & you won’t remember the color of his eyes in detail quite like you did. And it’s going to break you down because you’ll find yourself in bed at 2:10 in the morning trying to remember the way his lips curved when he smiled but it’s been too long & all the pictures you have with him are gone.. And you’ll start to think that maybe you shouldn’t have been so fucking impulsive.

Put everything in a box & only open it after you’ve moved on & want to revisit a time that was filled with genuine love & innocence. Because despite what you’ve been told, you can let go without forgetting.

It’s okay to trace the poems he wrote you in cursive with your fingertips, remembering what it was like the first time you laid eyes on him.

It’s okay to smile at the pictures of you two kissing; after all, his lips were the ones to show you how it was done-
it’s okay if your eyes well up because you can still feel him holding your shaking hands. It’s okay if you laugh at the promise of forever that two kids made because even though it was too big of a promise at that age, it was admirable.

It’s okay to close that box & put it back under your bed or in the back of your closet to collect dust for another 6 months while you live & fall in love again & again.

You will always remember him, with or without the pictures but having them makes it alot easier when you’re no longer a kid & you’ve loved a handful of men after him & the color of their eyes are mixing in with his & all you want is to be sure. When all you want is to remember a time where love was him walking you home from school kissing you on the cheek. When love didn’t mean doing drugs or getting undressed.
—  I wish I could remember the exact color of his eyes & what it felt like to be pure again.