One of life’s biggest ironies is that we’re wired to yearn for closeness yet shy away from it because it’s too much effort. But it’s the effort that makes the closeness sweeter, and the closeness you receive is worth the effort; it’s an infinite loop over and over again.
There are people I love and there are people I like and there are people I do not care about. But it’s the people I love who I know will never love me back the same way I love them that drives me crazy because I want them to know that I love them so much, so so much, so much so that only my love will and should be sufficient forever.
There are some of you whom I want to shield from the rest of the world, to comfort when the pain hits, to hold up a fort when the storm arrives. There are some of you whom I know I will love forever despite you not loving yourself - and it’s okay if you reject it because I reject mine, I understand. There are some of you whom I want to hold in my hand, to put in my pocket, to bring you everywhere because I want you to be there in my every facet, my every fragment of life. There are some of you whom I would be an empty tree for, for you to spill secrets into the porous holes. And because I adore and love you so much, all that I can be and will be for you, should be sufficient.
But it is this exact love that’s so selfish that I’m learning to let go because it’s about my feelings that I cannot seem to give up. It’s dragging you around, holding you too close and crushing your bones too tight. But love is selfish and so am I. It doesn’t have to be, but I don’t know any other way.
In my adult years of being friends with girls more than boys, of being in relationships with girls more than boys, I’ve come to realise that as girls, we’re loyal and some of us would run through the fire and swim through shit to pull each other out, but we’re also volatile as hell. Two sparks that course through the same wire at equal speeds come to ignite and burst into a single flaming stroke of brilliance that no one can put out. Yet it’s also the same two sparks that crackle and burn and consume every other thing in it’s path. Two sparks turn to a combination of five, ten, thirty-five and it’s the large balls of fire that drive me mad, because all I wanted was to be was a streak of special brilliance. You and me, just us two; you and me, us against the world; you and me, forever and ever.
25 years in and I still don’t understand the mechanics of relations and the swirl of feelings; and perhaps 25 years later I still will never get it. There are some of you whom I know I will love for the next couple of lifetimes if memories carried on, whom I will love so much that I cannot bear to let you go, so please don’t talk to me about the notions of forever unless you mean it. I can’t bear it.