Our Love Krept from Ruins Yet Somehow Remains Banal
Do you know what I find unamusingly funny about love? I have never felt it with anyone in the world. I never felt my heart beat when cradled in another’s arms, and I never felt calmed by their breaths. I have never sought solace in someone else’s presence, always certain I was better alone. And although I have never felt it before, I am so certain it is what I am feeling now. It is what I felt before, yet left alien to a feeling I could never discern.
I have never liked hurting people, even those who hurt me first. It just isn’t me. But the way my heart sinks—plummets deep into my chest at the thought of losing my love—I would hurt anyone if it meant his heart was saved. Because I love him so much. Yet, I stupidly prioritized someone else’s feelings. They weren’t here first, but when my love was gone—when he left me and I never thought I’d see him again—they showed up. But my love came back. He came back, and I needed him. I need him. I love him so much I’m in distress. The thought of losing him—he who I wished desperately would return—was more disheartening than losing myself.
I didn’t know how to let the other person go. I didn’t know how to say it: “I do not want you.” They knew we’d never be together. I made that clear, but I know, through their words, that they always expected more. To me, the way we talked was comedic. They were my darling, my honey, and I was their love. All of these things were achingly true for them, but a joke to me. And I see it now, because those words were never meant for them—they were meant for my love. And I gave them away.
In the beginning, it was hard for me to fathom that the love that had withered could somehow bloom again. I was scared, scarred, and hurt. For me to push the feelings I damned away from myself onto another was not only selfish, but stupid. I knew, and I know better.
As much as I would like to give myself grace, say that I had every right to carry on what I had begun, I know that I am wrong. Because the moment my love returned, I felt those feelings a million times more intensely than I had before. It was so strong I could touch it. This is love, and I know that now. I am sure I knew it before, but I can accept it now. Because I know that he feels the same. I can ignore the pain he left me swimming in before. I can forget all about it because I have him now, and that’s all that matters. It’s all that ever mattered—and so, again, I will say: if he is happy, then to hell with how anyone else feels.
