Love is something that is indefinable. I guess to most people it's an action, to others it's a concrete thing, and to even fewer others it is simply a way of life. It's hard to pin down what it means or what it is or even how someone should go about speaking of it to the world. If I know only one thing about love it is that it undergoes vast changes. It withers, it grows, and sometimes it even dies; should it then be considered an entity? I've been the girl that envied those that had found love my entire life. I've watched couples bicker and banter between each other and kiss in the end, and wondered with great awe how such a relationship came to be. And then I grew up, and I got to be one of those people. I got to bicker and banter and even fist fight and still end the night within his arms. I could look him in the eyes and tell him my deepest, darkest, most disgusting secrets, and to my amazement he would kiss me and everything would be fine. I felt love, I held it, I touched it, I nurtured it, and I watched it progress to a point I never thought possible. It took over my world, it engulfed everything that I knew and everything I ever wanted to be. He was the only thing that I was sure of. And then that love withered, and it died. A funeral should have commenced, or may have actually been conducted in my mental absence. He did not/ does not/ will not love me. And the world is suddenly off kilter. No solid ground can be sought, nor can it ever be found. This is the part they never mention in the fairytales. This is the fine print on the bottom of the contract to your heart. Being in love, feeling it, knowing what it really is deep down inside. Being able to caress it, to know without a doubt that it does exist, that it is capturable, that you can have it. This all comes at a higher price than most would have ever been willing to pay. Knowing true happiness, true completeness is out there, can only be proven if you are willing to one day lose that. Love comes at a great cost, because eventually love ends. It dies, sometimes by natural causes, sometimes by suicide, but mostly its murder. He killed it. He took a knife straight to my heart. Contract voided. Love lost, life still keeps on going though. And nothing will ever be the same, because now I am not enlightened by love, I am broken by it. Knowledge comes at a great cost. If I could turn back time and never let him in, it would be tempting to say that I would do it. But is it not true, that even if it was not him, it would have been another. I would have been hurt by another, probably sooner. There is no escaping it. And unfortunately there is no cure. Is it better to have loved and lost, than to never have loved at all? I doubt even one of us could ever discover this answer. We will all be one day broken by love, and if you are not, I dare you to allow yourself to be broken by it. I will love him for the rest of my days. I will look back on these days and cry, tears breaking loose without abandon. I will never love to such a degree again. First love, young love, untainted all out love, is different than just love. Loving before you have ever been hurt is something you will never again experience. It's pure, it's addictive, and its set on a path of destruction from day one. So love wholeheartedly, but remember: love dies just like we do. It blossoms, it withers, it self-destructs, and one day it will be gone.
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