I used to think that loving meant never letting go. I used to think that one had to stand by the person they love. I used to think that love was carrying your weight and someone else’s too.
I now realize how wrong I have been for so many years.
You love when you let go. Because you give that one person the freedom they deserve, to be happy, to be successful, to be fulfilled.
You love when you stand up for yourself. Because you need yourself before any other person and because you are true to yourself, others will be as well.
You love when you carry yourself through life. Because carrying others is not a task for you. Carrying other people’s weight should be a choice. And choosing is loving.
Love is complicated. And then, it’s not.
Love is tough. And then, it’s not.
Love is madness. And then, it’s not.
I’m not crying. But I’m not meant to be doing so. I love. And love will always make me happy.
I love. And in the anxious mess of a life I’m leading, I am happy.
I think of you. And I’m happy.
I see you smile. And I’m happy.
I see you standing tall. And I’m happy.
I would never ask you to be anyone other than yourself. And if I did, it would make me even more miserable than this.
I love you. And I don’t think I’ve ever spoke truer words.
I will let you go.
I love you.
(And this is not a goodbye. This is a hug, a tight embrace, a kiss on the cheek, an “I’ll catch you later”.)