strong & barely controllable emotion; intense sexual love; an intense desire or enthusiasm for something; a thing arousing enthusiasm; a compelling emotion towards a feeling or person
"Despite my strife & daily bullshit, I remain positive, optimistic, and passionate. I express my humor, compassion, morale, and character to the utmost; which can be great but nonetheless a burden to myself. I believe passion is one of my brightest qualities, but it has been difficult for me to talk about this subject since experiencing heartbreak for the first time in my adulthood, last year around this time. Whenever it comes to mind- I overwhelm myself with thoughts of my lack of intimacy, drive myself insane, blackout to where I swallow my pride, then send myself into a whirlwind of depression. My lack of intimacy dulls me to the core and I often feel second best. Remarkably though, my passion for life overall remains resilient, prospering, and flourishing. When I think of my loved ones and my loyalty to them, I become passionate. When I speak of the beauty I have seen in the world, I am passionate. When I look back on the few, small, yet soft moments I have had with one man, I want to be passionate. I forget how dear this word is to me until I think of a sweet something that brings a smile to my face. It is in my nature to act on this emotion; so when I don't, I feel lost. Truly though, I have never been able to fully act as intimate and passionate as I would like to, since I have never found a beau who satisfies me enough that I would want to show these affections to. I have trickled tastes of my endearments before to lovers and they either go unnoticed or unappreciated. Knowing that something with such a genuine intention goes overlooked so easily is the most unsettling thing for me to reason with. I retaliate, beat myself up, and say "Fuck the world, and fuck your feelings. Who needs them? Fuck you and fuck this. I'm too proud for love." My heart freezes. My pride and feelings are hurt. I play ignorant music and laugh at dim jokes to numb the reality to which I live. I hide my body in dingy clothes with hopes that no one will see me, because it doesn't make a difference if I'm physically rejected since I already have been mentally and emotionally. I self-destruct because it's the best thing I know how to do, and I have nothing left to lose at this point. Like I said, I become dull to the core. I feel unworthy, and embarrassed to have ever let someone see such a vulnerable part of me and I immediately blush and run away. "I'm so fucking stupid. Why did you let yourself take things this far?" I strip myself of all feminine qualities I possess and showcase my faux-confidence by acting "douchey" with an I-don't-give-a-fuck attitude. Once the tender, amorous woman now suddenly becomes the calloused, rough individual. But alas! There is a remaining spark of positivity and optimism that brings me back to practicing self-compassion, love, and overall passion again. Passion is an intense desire or enthusiasm for something. How can I clout my genuine intentions and dismiss a feeling that is so fiery and bright when that ultimately is my true intention? How can I deny myself of that emotion and feel sorry for myself still? How can I deny myself happiness? My feelings are too big to diminish. The flames have been ignited once again, and I flourish. Passion for humanity triumph over any romantic and self-destructive affiliations I have burdened myself with before. I rise, take what is already rooted within me, let go of my rejection and what I lack, then send all of my passion back into the world through what I know best: humor, compassion, morale, and character to the utmost. I have bloomed and once again become the tender, amorous, and strong woman I was all along.