I’ve said before that I don’t know how to love in pieces, and it’s true.
I have a habit of giving too much of myself in relationships, and once my novelty has worn off and the honeymoon stage is over, I find myself alone, putting the pieces back together.
I’ve been told to love more cautiously; that I need to be more careful. While I understand that loving cautiously is probably a lot less painful, it also seems a lot less fulfilling to me.
Love, in my mind, has always been messy and passionate.
The darkest moments of my life were experienced after my break up with the first love of my adult life.
I stayed in bed for a week. I didn’t eat, I barely slept and I was uncertain whether I would ever feel complete again.
The pain was unbearable, but I also experienced some of the best moments of my life during the time I spent in love with him.
When we were together, he felt like home to me, and while I know that you shouldn’t find home in another person, I let myself.
What I’m trying to express in all of this talk of the possibly unhealthy, slightly obsessive love story is that I love in a very particular way.
I am unreserved and fearless, and often it ends in disaster. But in the fleeting moments of happiness, I’ve felt more than I ever knew possible.
Not all love stories look like mine.
My mother has always told me that I’m like her in the sense that I’m a “big ball of emotions,” and I wear my heart on my sleeve.
She is ridiculously and unapologetically in love with her husband, my stepfather.
My father, on the other hand, is in a comfortable marriage.
That’s not to say that he doesn’t love his wife, because he does, but he also doesn’t love her so much that it hurts.
They don’t get into tumultuous fights that extend into the early hours of the morning, which sounds like a bad thing, but in my experience one can not exist without the other.
I think that it’s all a choice that needs to be individually made.
Many people choose relationships that they can count on, and there’s nothing wrong with stability, but I don’t think that there’s anything wrong with passion and a little bit of controlled insanity either.
I guess that when it comes down to it, I prefer the craziness. I know that I’m not protective enough of my heart, but I don’t really see how anyone could fully love someone if they’re choosing to guard themselves.
I think that people are meant to love and to be loved in the most passionate way.
It may hurt and leave me repetitively shattered, but I choose to believe that feeling something real, even if it’s pain, is better than any emotion that merely runs lukewarm.
Life is messy and unplanned. I suppose I think love should be that way too.