Member-only story

Varieties of Love

David Price
4 min readJun 4, 2024

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Soon Young, 1960

Love was my grandparents drinking coffee together every day, love is my dad not missing a single day in his gardens with his cedar trees, yacas and plums, love is my mom crocheting every afternoon on her couch.

Love is the story that lives in my chest and I write between tears. Love is my dog waiting at the door when my son goes out, it’s my cat snuggling on my legs

Love is all the people who accept me as I am, who enter the temple of my spirit without touching anything, with respect and devotion.

Love does not need to be spoken. It vibrates, it lives, it pulses, it enlarges, it relieves, it lightens, it remains, it evolves, grows, it warms, it curls, encourages, strengthens, but it never hurts, no harm, it never moves away from yourself, you do not suffer for love and if you suffer, then it is not love.

Love is never one-way, it sprouts into tears and knows no space or time, its force is uncontrollable and highly contagious.

— Isabel Kristina Iza Santiana

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Most of my childhood memories of my father are of being ignored. I was his namesake, but nothing I did ever pleased or even interested him. He enjoyed telling me I couldn’t do anything right….

The only reason I’m in Hollywood is that I don’t have the moral courage to refuse the

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David Price
David Price

Written by David Price

I write about creativity, loving, language learning and psycho/spirituality. I’m a longtime painter and reader.

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