There exists such a defined difference between
being madly in love
and being in love with the idea
of someone caring about you.
When your definition of 'home'
goes from the comfort of your bed
to a person,
you've found love.
Everything feels so effortless.
It's the 'something good' that keeps me in tact.
The highs are higher,
and pain doesn't seem as painful.
How beautiful it is that someone could make
your heart beat so fast
when you desired nothing more
than for it to not beat at all.
I suppose we don't surely know why we're alive
until we discover the things we would die for.
I might've been a drop in the ocean,
but, God, you were my sea.
It is so utterly frightening,
that in a split second,
without any hesitation,
or second thought,
you could fall in the kind of love
that a lifetime can't heal
It is frightening to know that
someone who was once said to be
your own constellation of stars
could cause a lifetime of damage.
And of course I loved you-
if it doesn't destroy you when it is over,
was it really love?
Sacrifices were made
for seemingly nothing.
Suddenly, even the once perceived comfort of my own bed no longer felt like a home.
The lows reached their lowest;
pain seemed evermore prevalent.
It could have been so simple,
but I was never enough for you.
That's why I have decided,
it is not the idea of love,
or the act of being madly in love
that I am so fearfully and wholly afraid of-
it is you,
and all of the ways you fell out of love with me.
[L.T]
