"Sometimes it lasts in love, but sometimes it hurts instead."

Jesus. That was extremely upsetting.
Seeing that. Seeing it diminish. Seeing the pain that was so evident. Watching it falter. It was like watching it all happen from the outside in. Seeing it rekindled. Seeing it found again. Knowing that would never happen. Seeing it, and wanting it so bad. But knowing that, regardless, it will never happen.

Storms make me miss you. The comfort and safety I felt with you is no longer here.

Oh, dear god. In the middle of a store, I nearly had heart failure. The shock must have registered on my face, it was inevitable. I can't remember what I said; I only remember how you looked.

"I love you."
That's all I want to say.

"Love is still wanting to hold someone after you climax. After the initial euphoria from the orgasm wears off, you’re replaced with a sense of calm rather than a panic. You don’t want to search for your clothes, scramble to find your keys and figure out the best way to tell them, “See ya later forever!” You’re fine with chilling out in bed with the person and maybe ordering pad thai later.

Love is unattractive. It can expose our worst traits: Jealousy, irrational fears, heated anger; the gang’s all here! While it can bring out compassion and tenderness, it can also make you behave like the ugliest version of yourself. That can be okay for a little while, but love with real longevity should be like a xanax rather than an adderall.

Love is not afraid to be schmaltzy. There’s a reason why the most popular love songs are so lyrically simple. You can drown it in metaphors all you want but love usually boils down to, “You make me so happy. I want to hold your hand. I just want u 2 be mine 4ever!” You can be a 50-year-old linguistics professor at Columbia University and still find something to relate to in a Mariah Carey ballad if you’re in love because the feelings are so universal. It’s humbling, isn’t it? No matter who you are or what your background is, love can reduce you to Mariah Carey mush.

Love is an all-consuming drug. It gives us these natural highs we’ve only read about in books or heard in songs. It’s addictive. It’s what keeps us going to bars, drinking glasses of wine, going to that stupid house party in Bushwick; it’s all for the possibility of finding love. In the wrong hands, love can be dangerous and scary. If someone lacks a healthy foundation, love can kill. All of these crimes you read about in the newspapers are usually linked to passionate love. “I did it because I loved them just…too much.”

Love is not what our parents had. In high school, you never wanted to think about your mother and father having once slept with people in the backseat of cars and feeling warm and happy. That would make it feel less special and young. It would make love have less to do with you when, EXCUSE ME, it has EVERYTHING to do with you.

Love is getting drunk with your significant other at a party and taking a cab home with your bodies intertwined. You feel safest in these moments, the most secure. Entering a social gathering with someone who loves you is the biggest security blanket. People leave the party as a parade of droopy expressions and sad cocktail dresses. But not you. “Sorry guys, I’m in love! I’m taking a car!”

Love is fucking stupid. Love is fucking smart. Love is about betraying yourself, of compromising your ideals for someone else’s approval. That’s actually the bad kind of love, but I guess it all blurs together when you’re young or when you’re old or when you don’t love yourself.

Love is your significant other telling you about their favorite album and then making a point to fall in love with it on your own. Love is wondering why your better half loves certain things. You think you can find remnants of them in their favorite films, books and songs, but you usually can’t.

Love is finding yourself feeling protective over someone else’s well-being Love is being incensed with rage when someone or something has done your lover wrong.

Love is wanting your partner to come. And if they can’t, just say, “That’s okay. I’m enjoying this.” It might be bullshit, but they’ll be orgasming in the next five minutes. Trust me.

Love isn’t always marriage. Marriage is spending $60,000 so everyone can know that someone loves you. You know what’s certainly not love? Debt. In some cases, love can be divorce.

Love is a back massage, a mindfuck, a pair of perfect breasts, of feeling unashamed about the cellulite on your body. Love is someone giving a shit about you enough to argue. Love is not passive. Love is “Don’t fucking touch me right now.” Love is “Who the FUCK were you talking to?” Love is sometimes hating yourself for a second. Love is hate. Period. Indifference is the real killer of love and the true antithesis.

When love leaves you, you should be lying on your bathroom floor with no resolve. You’re smoking cigarettes in the bathtub and crying about everything bad that’s ever happened.

Love is someone seeing the beauty in you and wanting to bask in it every day all day. Love is not guaranteed. We are not owed love. That’s why when we get it, we know how lucky we are and hold on to it for dear life."

Sometimes, things are easy. There are days that I get by without being upset. There are days that I really am happy. Sometimes, things are wretched. There are days that I can't hold it back. There are days that I just lose it.
Today is one of those days.

I miss you.

I wasn't ready.

I want to write about everything, but I have nothing to say. False. I have everything to say. I have too much to say. I have so many thoughts that I cannot even begin to separate them. I have one overwhelming mass of thoughts that I want to shout about. I want to reveal my brain. I want to expose it. I want someone to discover my mind.

I am beginning to come to terms with my reality. That sounds mildly insane that I would have to come to terms with it, but it's true. I am accepting it. I have been deceiving myself for so long now. I have created an illusion out of my daily life. This illusion has comforted me, but it has slowly destroyed me. This fantastic diversion that I have so easily forced myself to believe is now leaving a heavy path of destruction. Thus, I will no longer hide behind it.
Welcome to reality; it's cruel but beautiful.

Brain, shut up.

I want to live in permanent transition.
I don't want to remain dull and stationary.
Why settle when you can explore?

What is this state that I'm in? It seems as though it is an in-between. I am stuck in transition, yet I am too afraid to move. I am surrounded by a veil that disguises reality. I do not want to move from this unknown land. I am in unfamiliar territory, but I feel safe. That, in itself, confuses me. I look back; I want to stay here. I look forward; I want to stay here. The past fills me with sorrow. The future fills me with fear. Which I would prefer, I have not a clue. I would prefer to stay here in this ephemeral security; in this false comfort; in this illusion. I would prefer to continue deceiving myself and altering actuality. I would like to live in a constant state of deception and transience. Aren't we all anyways?

People would assume this to be the most minuscule.
Yet, it is proving to be the most difficult.

It is astonishing how effortless it is for me to evade the truth. Reality remains simply an illusion. I am deceiving myself. I am destroying myself through this deception. I look actuality in the eye, and I do not falter. I can create an illusion out of all verity; and I do. There is no validity, only deviation.

It has only just begun, and I already know it needs to end.

I still think of you every day. I still miss you every day. I still wish every day. I am moving on. I am letting go. I am starting new. But that doesn't mean I don't still feel it. It doesn't mean I don't still remember. It doesn't mean I have forgotten. I know this is right. I know this is good. I know I am going to be happy. But that doesn't mean you are any less. I don't know if I'm ready. I don't know if I should be. I am afraid. I am afraid of hurting and being hurt. But, I know I need to do this. I know this is right for me. Yet, I also know that no matter how hard I try, it isn't changing. I know that it isn't going away. It isn't lessening. And that terrifies me. It is unfair; to me and to others. I wish I knew what to do. I wish I knew how to make things work, one way or the other. I just want to be able to leap. I want to be able to let go and I want to be fearless and happy. But something is holding me back. I want to dive head first into the opportunity I have in front of me. But something is lingering. And I want it gone.

Wet eyes of truth.

Then, I remember.

I can't breathe.
I can't focus.
I can't relax.
I can't be still.
I can't look away.
I can't look anywhere but away.
My hands burn.
My thoughts race.
My heart thunders.
My lungs swell.
My stomach turns.
My world flips upside down.
I have tunnel vision.
Comfort.

I just am.

It's different. It's not like others. It's unexpected. It's unbearable. It doesn't change. It isn't the same. It's undeniable. It's terrible. It's wonderful. It's unattainable. It's an illusion. But it is right in front of me.

It's unbelievable.
It's incomprehensible.
I am unable to fathom this.
It's too surreal.
I would give it all just for you to get a glimpse.

I keep thinking of you.
You're on my mind.
For 57,000 time this morning.
I keep seeing you in sheets of white.
I can't change anything.
I can't change.
Anything.

"The first time I saw you, my heart fell. The second time I saw you, my heart fell. The third time fourth time fifth time and every time since, my heart has fallen.
I stared at her.
You are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen. Your hair, your eyes, your lips, your body that you haven’t grown into, the way you walk, smile, laugh, the way your cheeks drop when you’re mad or upset, the way you drag your feet when you’re tired. Every single thing about you is beautiful.
I stared at her.
When I see you the World stops. It stops and all that exists for me is you and my eyes staring at you. There’s nothing else. No noise, no other people, no thoughts or worries, no yesterday, no tomorrow. The World just stops and it is a beautiful place and there is only you. Just you, and my eyes staring at you.
I stared.
When you’re gone, the World starts again, and I don’t like it as much. I can live in it, but I don’t like it. I just walk around in it and wait to see you again and wait for it to stop again. I love it when it stops. It’s the best fucking thing I’ve ever known or ever felt, the best thing, and that, beautiful Girl, is why I stare at you."

These words were not originally your own, but now they are. You have taken the genius of an author, and you have claimed it. You have made these words ours. These are no longer miniscule letters in a book; these are now meaning, memories, emotions, and reality. You have made me a part of these words. You have made yourself a part of these words. We, together, are a part of these words. We are these words. These are words that encompass me, you, our emotions. Us.
These are ours.

Never been so unattractive.