My love evolved over the duration of our time together. First, I was new to the concept of what we'd become. Then, as it grew on me, I got better at extending my ability to love beyond myself. For us both, love was new, bright and shiny and attractive. Looking back at us now I'm not sure what you felt. But this is about me, not you.
My love was excitement, a rush that never subsided, welling up in me upon every reminder of you. My love was my heart in my hand, offering you total control over it and trusting you to take care of it. It was a fascination, a wonder, a craving. But it was more than that for me, even at that time, because in loving you I learned what it meant to love myself.
Looking down from my view on the roof, I see a world full of love, in everyday stories not much different than ours. I see a mother holding her children's hands as they cross the street, taking them to the park instead of going to lunch with a friend. I see children of all ages exploring and examining creation, in awe of the intricate beauty of the universe, and then lovers who see the same beauty in their partner's eyes. I see people on their knees, praying faithfully to something they believe in, and how their love drives them to new heights.
The human capacity for love knows no bounds. It is vast, deep, and pure. Imagine that love turned inwards, towards the self. Imagine if we loved ourselves as our children, found our own minds and bodies as wonderfully interesting as we find nature. Imagine if we saw the galaxies in our own eyes, not just in someone else's. If only our faith in a higher power would also be our faith in ourselves. This, too, is love. Why should it be wrong?
But back to me, because I'm starting to notice that there's more to it than excitement and submissiveness and obsession.. There's also the compromise. The fights and arguments. The stubbornness and frustration. Love isn't all sunshine and puppies and lucky charms cereal, it's also a choice. Because you can't fall in love with only a part of something, you have to love all of it. Even the tougher parts. I never understood that, and maybe that's why I was so bad at love. I hid my dark side, because I was so scared that you wouldn't love it as much as you loved the parts I showed you.
Because who would?
Not me.
You never said you loved me. You always kept that last bit of yourself hidden from me, except you never lied about it.
Now I know why.
YOU ARE READING
rooftop
Randomhere's to the feelings we never expressed, the memories that haunt us. there's something about a rooftop at night that brings out our truest words.
