Love is an interesting matter.
Love, a simple, four-lettered word.
Yet, it has been the reason why wars have been fought between people, sometimes even leaving them forever wounded.
Love, when we have it, can heal past wounds, and make us feel amazing.
Yet, for those seeking it, it is torture. It is something several people yearn for, yet sometimes cannot obtain, or is obtained through immense struggle.
Love is powerful. Love is dangerous. Love is reckless.
Here is a true love story; one inspired by someone close to me.
A girl fell in love with a boy. They stayed together for six months. He changed. He fell out of love. He was determined to break up with her. She cried. She begged for a second chance, wishing she could change her “flaws.” He was stubborn at first, but then eventually gave in. She had him agree that they would take a break: hit the pause button for the summer.
One month passed. The girl missed the boy more than ever. She reached out to him, yearning his warmth. She sent a letter, apologizing hundreds of times for her “flaws,” hoping he would understand, and agree with a now-clear mind. He responded awhile later, cold as winter. She cried. Another month passed. The girl still awaited for his letter, wishing he would initiate some warmth. The letter never came. Then the third month passed. The girl grew sad, and also angry. She questioned her flaws, asking why they were called flaws. The girl then became a woman, as she finally understood that man was not for her. She now understood those “flaws” were what made her herself, and she was no longer ashamed of herself. Instead, she learned that they were her wings; wings that would enable her to find a real lover.
Her heart once broken, the girl, now a woman, carefully spread her wings and flew lowly, watching the horizon. So many men, yet none of them with the wings she desired. Time passed. She once looked back, wondering if maybe she should just try to get back with the man before… but then turned away from the idea, wincing at the pains he’d caused her.
The woman carefully cradled her wings, now knowing their newfound value, and set out to search for the One.
One day, she found him. and he found her. They met up. The woman found herself glowing in warmth she’d never felt before, and for once in a long time, she was happy. The man smiled at her, laughed with her, he embraced her wings with his. She felt safe with him. She felt sure of him. She no longer had thoughts of the shame her wings had once given her. She knew she had found love this time; a shared love.
Seven months later, the woman dropped her journal. And as she bent to retrieve it, she saw a glimpse of a book that she’d made a long time ago. She realized that she’d forgotten the book she’d meant to give the boy. She picked it up, and brushed the dust off the binding. She untied the ribbon and began to read the book, curious to see what she’d written before.
She read the book, from the first word, to the last period. She did not cry. Rather, she embraced it, her past. She knew it had given her strength, and had lead her to find true love.