My role model of love was a broken one. Fragmented, resentful, done.
A woman who loves too strongly she neglects everyone else, including herself.
She lashes out at the people she cares about because of one person, the cold nature she receives from people she mistreats, a subversion.
She's finally discovering her own version of love, the dresses she alters to fit around her height is seemingly similar to how she fits love into life.
Love isn't about tearing you down mum, it should lift you up tenderly. You treat it the same way you treat your alcohol: dependency.
Love changes, it disarranges and exchanges. Love breaks hearts like the cracks in the ground after it departs.
My Love is honest, fragile at first and eventually unwavering. My fights are harsh, hateful, and unsavoury.
I prefer a loud heated argument to the frozen silence of a damaged relationship. Push to hear confessions I already know; the confirmation adds to the weight of our sinking ship.
We become lost and must take steps to find one another once more in this undying circle of falling in and out of love with each new version of us.
Sometimes I'm too tired to look over the hill and I stand still wanting to give up, my thoughts almost treasonous.
Lovers teach us lessons to embrace who we are. Lovers show us who we are may never be enough.
I am still learning how to love.
Let me live with a passion and kindness for people and let me die with the bitter sweetness of loving never being loved back.
