Love is a funny thing. You expect it to be easy. You expect it to be a
world of roses and laughs and perfect moments that you find only in
movies. You expect her to always say the right thing, and always know
exactly how you feel, or exactly how to react to it. You expect her to
calm you down when you're yelling or to chase you when you run away. You
expect so much that you feel entirely, and utterly defeated when
something doesn't exactly match up with all your plans. But that's the
thing. Love isn't a plan. It doesn't have a certain beginning and it
certainly has no end or visible finish line to those deeply in it.
Love
happens; it is so incredibly messy. People around you can't comprehend
why you do the things you do, or why you fight so hard for something
that seems to cause you so much pain, because simply, they can't see.
They can't see the invisible ring of insanity that surrounds you when
you're in love. It's inconvenient and painful and devastating at times,
but we can't live without it. What you don't learn is how hard love is.
How much work it takes. How much of ourselves we have to put into it.
How it isn't worth it until we are complete and utter idiots about it.
Love
isn't her calming you down when you yell. It's her yelling, just as
loud, just as hard, right back at you, right in your face to wake you up
and to keep you grounded. It isn't her/him bringing you roses everyday
or cute things that make your relationship appear more presentable.
It's
after a long fight, that drains the life and bones right out of you
both, and yet her showing up at your door the next morning anyway. It's
not her saying all the right things or knowing exactly how to handle
you. So no, it's not her caressing your hair and telling you everything
is going to be alright. It's her standing there, admitting she's just as
scared as you are. You have to remember that with love, you're not the
only one involved. You've unknowingly put your life, your heart into the
palms of another persons hands and said, here. Do what you will. Mash
it into mince meat. Or forget I ever handed it to you. As long as you
have it.
It makes us crazy. It makes reality invisible and it
erases all the lines that we shouldn't cross. Because love isn't about
fencing ourselves in; feeling safe, feeling sure about the future. It's
about scaring the shit out of every nerve in our body, but pushing
forward anyway. Because all the fighting and all the tears and all the
uncertainty is worth it. And it's a hell of a lot better, than being
100% happy without someone to show us that there is a world of a
difference between feeling 'happy' and feeling whole
