Only She Knows

Nobody tells you about the heart wrenching pain of love. The mess and gruesome lot of loving another. Love can be beautiful, kind, innocent, but all beautiful things have shadows, and all beautiful things wither. Nobody tells you about how cliché you sound learning the art of numbness and letting go. The pain of ripping up your own heart like it was paper meant for a kindling. The strings that you beg yourself to cut but can’t bring yourself to. The lack of sleep and airheaded daydream state.

Everyone expects you to act in accordance with what they deem to be normal, a sense of okayness.  An expectation that gnaws on your very soul and consumes your conscience. The phrase “If it was meant to be…,” or “If they could they would..,” passed around as if to console the already shattered self, as if to validate the pain ensued.

You question, “if I did this... If I did that... If I had tried harder... If I tried to be like her...” a continuous hellish cycle of self-torture. A gut-wrenching realization that it will never be. Love is not some fairytale ending where the Prince marries the country girl. Love is vicious, venomous, addicting... a thrill-seeking adventure. Love is sought after as if it will satiate a hunger deep in our hearts, a finish-line that seems to never gets closer.