Love is…you get confused and you do stuff you don’t mean to do - and you just - you hate yourself and sometimes you don’t even want to love the person you do because it would be so much easier if you didn’t. But you just – you just do.
There were so many things I loved about her, but most of all, I loved how brave she was. I didn’t see that it was how she thought she had to be. I never realized that she could be scared. I didn’t really know her, in part because I don’t think she knew how to let me in, but also because I was afraid. I wanted to be perfect for her because I thought she was perfect. I was afraid to push her to let me closer, afraid that if I did, she’d leave.
I’m broken, I have cut myself wide open. I can see my heart and it is not what I believed it was, it is not good and kind and all the things I have always thought I am.
This is what happiness is, past the rubbish of its overuse as a word, past the cracked gloss of the letters that mean nothing when strung together. They mean something now, and I know what it’s like when you and someone else are right together. How simple it is, and how amazing.