There is at least one thing I think I can say for sure something about loving someone, be it a partner, a friend, a sibling, a parent.
It’s that the more you know about them, their past, their life, their thoughts, no matter how good or bad, no matter how wonderful or how awful and shocking and heartbreaking, the more it all doesn’t weaken your feelings at all, not one bit.
It’s not that you don’t mind or don’t care, because on the contrary, you care so much you love them even more for being open. You become so glad that you can discover and try to understand them even more, that you know them even more. It’s not the case of blind love, because love isn’t blind. Love is having your eyes wide open and seeing, understanding, accepting someone as they are.
This is how I think, and this is also exactly why it puzzles me, how people think that the certain faults and imperfections of the people I love might somehow alter my thoughts and affections toward them. It’s laughable, really. Because in my eyes, nobody is perfect. Perfection is a concept, and it is fucking overrated.
To search for and love a perfect person is to love a concept, then. Or even if there is such a thing called perfection, it must be relative. Then we can deem someone to be perfect if we decide so. Someone becomes perfect, for us, in a certain time and space, when we decide to accept them as they are, with all their faults and vices, and vice versa.
I’m glad that several of the people surrounding me, the ones dearest to me, have this sort of nonjudgmental policy, something I can relate to and appreciate with all my heart and mind.