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Letter to the Hurt and Confused

I don't know what 'love' is...

By Kaelyn FairPublished 6 years ago 5 min read
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To whom it may concern,

You know what the right thing to do is. You know the hard road is the best road, you just don't want to feel the pain, but trust me. Please trust me. I waited so long to fix my life, you were hurt yes, but no it doesn't mean you should stop finding love. You just need to realize what's the best. What's going to the ultimate best. Is it equal? Is the work in the relationship equal? Do you feel that true love? Because let me tell you, saying “I love you” isn't enough to fuel a relationship. Saying “I love you” will not keep the relationship strong.

Anyone can say “I love you” anyone can give you compliments and hold you when you're sad, but not everyone can learn your hopes, dreams, support and push your future and still build their own comfortably. Not everyone can put their feelings on hold for the benefit of another. I don’t know what love is... I mean, I don’t know how to explain it…

I can try.

Love is sitting at an island looking at the photos of what was once was and being able to cry together even if it was about past loves. Love is letting the other talk about an ex even when it hurts to hear how much they loved them, because you know they can’t talk to anyone else. It’s being able to look past the nasty things they had once said to another human being and the cheating they had done one too many times and STILL viewing them as one of a kind. Love is staring contests for no apparent reason. Love is opening up about small dreams and desires and discovering they have similar ones. It’s inspiring the other to better themselves without even trying; they want to better themselves because of who you are. Love is being able to drop the facade and let them be sad for a bit, because you know they need it. You know they need to not smile for a while and being okay with it, because you want them to build themselves into a stronger person…

Love is easy. It’s not suppose to be hard. Saying “I love you” shouldn’t sting. It shouldn’t carry a weight. It shouldn’t hurt.

I know you’ve been hurt. I watched it happen. I take some of the blame. I remember you crying one night. You couldn’t stop and the only physical thing keeping you up right was my effort in doing so. I know you hardly knew I was there. I know the guilt clouded your mind. I had guilt. I know I saved you from something that would have ultimately ruined your family, but I wish I didn’t let it happen the way it did. I know in some way you did feel love. You did things for her, because you loved her. You know what love is... for you.

That is what everyone misses. Love is not defined by urban dictionary or wikipedia. Love isn’t defined by a 1950s photograph. Love is shaped and formed by the millions who experience it. You may not love or understand the love of one man to another man, but you know the love you possess from your heart to whoever you bestow it on. Love is clay. It’s pottery. You keep shaping it, adding water and time to it until you make the perfect vase TO YOU. Someone might think it’s ugly, odd, different, but it’s personalized for you.

We always said we didn’t know what love was back then. Well if we didn’t know what love was then why did we fight so hard? Why did you message her back? Why did you sneak out even though you knew you would get caught if you made one wrong move? Because you loved her. She just didn’t share the same love. You loved the person, while she loved the idea.

This may sting a little, but I did love him. I loved him more than I did myself, which caused me to harm myself, physically and mentally, in order for his happiness to remain present. That kind of love gets people killed. I went back so many times and kept fighting long after he told me he wasn’t fighting for me anymore. I knew what my love was, but he didn’t know his. Those photos showed a life we had built. Inside jokes, dark secrets, small traditions, and so much more. However, your love overshadowed his. You loved me enough to let me remain in your life and treat me like nothing was different. You loved me enough to let me love another. I should have done the same. I should’ve listened to you when you sent me that text that you truly loved her. I should have followed your example, but I couldn’t.

Maybe I don’t know what love is. Maybe when I say “I love you” to you, I say it with a broad meaning. Maybe, but my gut for once knows that’s not true.

In order to love another one must love thy self.

I have scars. Scars that hold different stories. I have urges. The kind that keep me up at night when I am hurting and haunt me when I am happy. I have uncomfortable stories and big mistakes that I hide from you, because I’m afraid it’ll cause you to not love me. I’ve done bad things and some of them I don’t even regret and sometimes that scares me. My point is I love me. Every stupid ass mistake. I love me. And you need to love you.

You’re hurt and confused. I know.

Just always remember that no matter what you have done in your past, I probably have done it too.

Always remember that I love you, even if I am still figuring out my meaning to it.

love
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