I wrote a story the other day. It was beautiful, a tragic love story. I showed it to my doctor who read it thoroughly and looked at me speechless. When the words finally formed in her mind and slipped from her tongue she asked me were the emotion in this came from. I’ve never been in a serious relationship, I’ve never loved someone so much I let them slip into me and teach me how to live. I’ve never lost that love. I’ve never truly lost someone I loved. But I could write about it, I could portray every emotion felt when you lose someone you love, I could perfectly impound her loss of mind in words. But how did I do that if I’ve never felt it? I thought, quite thoroughly I did, and the only explanation I could come up with was my own desire to feel that love. I want it so bad, and don’t have it, so it’s almost as if I had already lost it. On the contrary though I can say I’ve felt this love, yes I have been in love. It was a beautiful feeling. My heart races, problems fade; smiles appear where they never had before. But I have never been loved in return. Maybe that’s how I lost it, after some time of loving someone, and realizing they do not love you back, you eventually have to give up right? I mean you can’t spend your whole life wasting away sacred emotion on someone who doesn’t want it. Giving up this love, giving up dreams of being with them, holding their hand, talking with them, it does hurt. Though you’re not losing their love, you are losing hopes of them loving you. So much wasted effort and emotion. When I look back I wonder why I wasted this on them, why I let myself fall so hopelessly to only hurt myself. But I guess I shouldn’t beat myself up on that so much, it’s human’s nature to fall in love and it comes with being alive. What I should be beating myself up about is why I let it destroy me, why I gave so much up after I lost the hope. I let the loneliness eat me alive, and destroy my mentality. I let it bottle inside of me, only distracting my mind from acknowledging the fact that it’s there with harmful actions, actions that furthermore destroyed my life, my mind, and body. That’s the one thing I regret, the one thing that leaves me looking at my life with sadness and repent, and screaming to the clouds, begging for the second chance. I will be loved one day; I will be loved one day. I just have to wait. We all know waiting is hard, but maybe if I do, and I wait in contentness of the fact I’m not loved at this moment, when I do find that person—it will be magnificent. Our hearts beating fast together, our smiles faced towards each other, our problems conquered together, and conversations that never run dry. It will come, it does with all of us, and I can’t wait.
Love, and me.
January 4, 2012