Found somewhere in a comments section, and I thought it was super evocative:

You can read every book on meditation.. .but until you sit with your breath, you’re still far from going inward.
You can memorise every theory on swimming…
but until your body touches the water, you’re still dry.
And love is no different.

You can analyse every pattern, quote every psychologist, watch every video.
but until you open your heart and feel, you’re not really tasting the ecstasy of love.
Love was never meant to be dissected under a microscope.
It was meant to be lived.
Messy. Vulnerable. Unscripted.

If Romeo had known about attachment styles, he might have ghosted Juliet.
We are drowning in information and starving for intimacy.
Now, every human emotion comes with a diagnostic label:
They didn’t text? Must be avoidant.
They care too much? Codependent.
They’re hot and cold? Push-pull game.

When you filter every experience through a psychological lens, you forget to feel the actual experience.
Let’s be clear: Awareness of patterns is essential.
But when overused, awareness becomes armour.
And love needs your naked presence.
Not your theories.
It cannot be understood by thought alone.
It must be danced with. Sung to. Breathed in.

The Sufi poets knew this well.
They didn’t seek love that made sense.
They sought love that ruined their plans.
That broke their logic.
That rearranged their soul.

Modern spirituality sells the myth: Once you heal, you’ll attract the perfect partner.
But love doesn’t come as a reward for perfection.
It arrives as a teacher during your imperfection.

So here’s your invitation: Let go of the checklist. The analysis. The fear of not getting it right.
Let yourself fall. Let yourself feel. Let yourself fuck it up.
And let it still be sacred.
Because love is not a concept.
It’s not a label. It’s not a theory to master.

Love is a holy experience.
And you don’t study holiness. You surrender to it.