I never properly learned love’s forms or how to define it. Instead, I learned how to refine it into something that seemed similar to its true essence. After twenty years of attempts and failures, the only thing attained was confusion. How is it possible to feel this overwhelmed about feeling this empty?
If you’re wondering, this isn’t what it feels like to be lost, because that’s the one word I’ve been called the past couple of months. Truth is, maybe the closest meaning to what I’m feeling is betrayal; all my life I’ve lived in a home that was a house; everything I thought was permanent ended up being a place holder.
This is no one’s fault but mine though. It’s not the outgrowth of my parents’ negligence, not my mother’s paranoid depression or my father’s obsession with control. It’s not my first love’s abusive insecurities or his destructive defense mechanisms. It’s not my best friend’s selfish selflessness in the way he loved me unrequitedly but never asked for my permission to do so.
This is no one’s fault but mine; my rotten riots, my rebelling remedies, my dauntless fear.
But you, my darling, you have learned the purest form of love and held onto it. You tiny troublemaker, you tremendously tender beauty, you tantalizing trigger with no gun; you are the only person who has learned what love is without doubting it.
The first person you’ve ever loved was me, God knows why.
You look at me like I’m a tropical wonder when the truth is I’ve felt and looked like I’ve been drowning for years. You look at me like I’m God’s miracle on nights when I question God’s existence itself. You look at me like I’m a constellation when all I’ve ever written about was the gravitational force of blackholes and how it doesn’t matter whether or not the universe is expanding, because our universe is bound to collapse on itself either way.
You look through me.
No one’s ever looked through me before.
It is because of that immense amount of love you have for me that I realized I don’t know what love is. It is because of the way you contain me when every man I’ve ever loved has told me that I am a snarling rumble that cannot be contained. It is because of the way you whispered God’s name next to mine every night after the night I tried to kill myself; a desperate prayer of a child who does not know what death is but knows what it feels like. It is because of the way your heart decided to double its heartbeats everyday from that day forward, so that it can beat enough for the both of us to make sure I’ll stay alive throughout today (
and the day after and the day after).
It is because of all of that that I am the person I am now.
You have loved me enough for the both of us until you didn’t have to anymore. You have loved me enough for the both of us until I fell in love with the person you’ve always thought I was. You have loved me enough for the both of us until I started loving the both of us instead of loving you with an apologetic heart and a confused voice asking why you’ve loved me in the first place.
To donuts and chasing sunsets and sobbing hysterically after laughing hysterically, you are and always will be the love of my blood, life and soul.