I find myself writing about love often. Trying to depict its every meaning, its purpose in my life, and within the world. It has always been a swaying subject in my mind, for you see I have too many negating perceptions of what it is – what it could be.
I grew up in a home where love was nothing more than a purposeless word. “I love you” shifted to a mere “thank you” or “you’re welcome”, and shared kisses and hugs promised friendship. Meanwhile, young and innocently, I admired my parent’s cordial love for each other – sitting on opposite sides of the couch, distant dinners, separate interests; all a game of charaded love, but it was half of all I knew.
I watched movies portraying the external beauty of love, it’s flawless and harmless nature. Characters who fell in love easily and deeply without the succeeding storm. Tens of books that defined fairytale love, and dreams that played out fantasies of its fictional tendencies.
Even most of my adolescent dreams painted stories of men coming to my rescue, waking up next to me, or holding my hand as we walked. As laughable as that reads, at ten years old, I’d romanticized the easy everlasting feelings of it beyond even the fairytales. I wanted to fulfill something that my parents couldn’t. I wanted to follow the footsteps of every book and movie that demonstrated love’s healing capabilities.
However, until I fell for someone and felt my heart weaken at the sound of their voice, did I then realize I had it all wrong. Love is so unlike anything I’ve experienced, exhibiting a flawless exterior, but such blemished realities. It was an ethereal experience, but became unknowingly scary, and full of pain.
After seeing love on screens, written on paper, and within my ever-dreaming mind, mine felt mistaken. Because falling in love with you was a breath of fresh air while I unknowingly inhaled a war, and soon a compelling army had marched its way through my heart. Instead of feeling relieved and free, I felt trapped by your every opinion, every word, and thought.
Strapped within your heart strings, I was absolutely blind to the upcoming defeat that trailed my addiction for your company. While I loved you, I could feel your lips steal my strength through every destructive kiss. Each moment frozen within your eyes, combatted my ability to see myself, my goals, and the turn my life had made. I had plated my heart to be glamorized on an elegant cake platter playing the centerpiece for you.
Although, loving you was truly lovely. It wasn’t like anything else, but it was beautiful and enlightening. Despite my limited knowledge on the subject, I loved hard and deeply, and despite my high aspirations and my inapt mentors, I thought we had uncovered a love story of our own. But later on, as I fell in love with everything else, did I then realize it wasn’t true love.
Falling back in love with my life, myself, my passions, my accomplishments that’s what replicated the fairytales I read. Feelings of freedom remade the movie scenes in which characters spontaneously kissed in the rain. Feelings of empowering confidence as I snowboarded by myself instead of relying on affirming words in your company.
After my relentless written attempts trying to figure out how I loved wrong, how we loved wrong, I realized we had only begun a blueprint. An insight on how to love, and I thank you for that. While our love ended quickly and I free-fell even quicker, I landed on a pot of gold learning to love life itself.
And as I conclude on love, it isn’t about finding someone to spend your life with. Nor is it a solution to the hole in your heart, the life you don’t love, the body you resent, or the answer to anything. That’s where the movies, books, and my dreams went wrong, relaying the wrong message for such an impressionable girl
As I now redefine its meaning, love opens doors – it shouldn’t shut them.