n0t a waste 0f space.

I don't understand love

I can't write about love. I don't understand it.

Don't get me wrong, there are things that I love.

I love rainy days, and warms sweaters with books by a window.

I love the color yellow, and daisies in a summer field.

And I love the way my elbows stick out in awkward angles,

and the way my nose scrunches when I yawn.

But I don't understand fiery love. I don't understand,

hot-angry-tears-love, the is-it-worth-it-love, the where-were-you-last-night,

the don't-go-to-sleep-while-in-a-fight-love.

I don't understand the jealousy love, the possessitivity love, the vulnerablility love,

the love that means someone knows you completely.

The love without tents, without lies, without covers,

I don't understand how something as slippery as trust can be exchanged

like money in the hands of blindsided games,

and love blinds you they say, who wants to live that way?

I don't understand who would sign up for that pain, 

isn't your heart already breaking? 

Do you need to hand your pieces to get shattered once more, 

and left on the floor,

why sign up for another closed door?

Because if loving people was as easy as loving the rain, or flowers, or sunny days,

then I would file away my application for this wonderful thing,

but that's just crazy, everyone knows love isn't easy.

I'd like to stick to my bony elbows and wrinkled nose, my lonely night without any fights

except for the ones I battle in my mind.

I think I'm alone but I'm not really lonely,

but then again I still want to be loved so deeply,

ingrained like sand, or a barcode on a wrist,

but then I see you and my brain freezes.

And suddenly I'm asking,

...

"what's so bad about love again?"