Perfectly Said

Love is a funny thing. You expect it to be easy. You expect it to  be 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. But it’s simple, they can’t see  it. 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 or 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 world of a difference between feeling ‘happy’ and  feeling whole.


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