I love you more than my own skin.

The words of Frida Kahlo burn with the intensity of a heart that knew both ecstasy and suffering: “I love you more than my own skin.” In this confession, she reveals the depth of devotion that surpasses even the instinct for self-preservation. For the skin is the boundary of life, the very shield of existence, the part of the self most intimate and most necessary. To love another more than one’s own skin is to declare: “You are greater than my survival, more essential than my own body, the very core of my being.” It is the cry of love that transcends reason, that willingly dissolves the self into the beloved.

The ancients, too, knew of such devotion. They told of Alcestis, who gave her life for her husband Admetus, surrendering her breath so that he might continue to live. In her act, she loved more than her own flesh, more than her own days. So too did Frida, whose life was marked by unrelenting pain, yet who confessed her devotion with these fierce and unforgettable words. The skin, battered though it may be, was less precious to her than the one she loved. This is the essence of sacrificial love—to place another above the body, above even the fragile garment of life itself.

Frida Kahlo’s own story gives weight to the quote. Injured gravely in a bus accident as a young woman, she lived much of her life in torment, bound to her body’s frailty. Her skin was the vessel of agony, yet her heart, ever defiant, turned outward in devotion. In her tempestuous love for Diego Rivera, she gave more than herself; she gave her very essence, declaring that love for him outweighed her own physical being. Here is the paradox: though her skin betrayed her with pain, love remained a greater truth, more powerful than suffering.

This fierce declaration is not a gentle sentiment; it is heroic. To love beyond one’s own body is to risk everything, to say that the self can be dissolved if only the beloved remains. The ancients might have likened this to the fire of Prometheus, who gave of himself to humanity, or to the martyr who holds the beloved cause higher than their own breath. “I love you more than my own skin” is not fragile romance—it is the battlefield of love, where the self yields in total surrender.

Yet there is also tragedy in such words. For to love more than one’s own skin is to risk destruction, to risk losing oneself entirely in another. Frida’s love for Diego was both passion and wound, beauty and devastation. And so her words remind us that love in its highest form is never safe, never comfortable. It is a storm that consumes, leaving the lover marked forever by its fire. Her confession is not caution, but testimony: she knew the cost, and she loved still.

The lesson is clear: to love deeply is to risk everything. The heart that loves only safely never truly loves, for true love always costs something. And yet, as Frida shows, it is better to love with the fullness of one’s being, even beyond the skin, than to live guarded and untouched. For in the end, our bodies fail, but the love we give becomes immortal, echoing beyond our fragile frame.

Therefore, let all who hear these words take action: do not be afraid to love fully. Do not give with half a heart, but with all that you are. Remember that your skin is but the boundary of your body, while love is the essence of your soul. Love others in such a way that they know they are cherished above comfort, above fear, above even the self. For this is the love that transforms lives, the love that outlives death, the love that Frida Kahlo proclaimed with fire.

Thus her words endure, fierce and unyielding: “I love you more than my own skin.” May we too find the courage to love beyond ourselves, and in that love, taste the eternal.