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.
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