They say that if a writer falls in love with a person, they will never die.
I can attest for that expression. The people I loved will be immortal. And there’s some kind of beauty in that, I suppose.
But there’s a sadness in those stories. There must always be. Because I loved them. And I no longer do. And for me, the biggest tragedy is to fall out of love with someone.
I am still able to love. Despite having been hurt. Despite having hurt. But the biggest mistake people make is thinking hurting a lot makes the pain easier over time.
(It does not.)
I love passionately. And in spite of hurting with the same opposite intensity as I love, I still do it.
I am in love. And while it may bring some bitter moments, it’s still worth it. And I still do it.
Sometimes the cruelty of loving is loving so much that it tears you apart and sometimes, you end up questioning whether you will get the pieces back together or if you are meant to be broken that way.
And then, sometimes you end up finding someone as fucked up. And that person is able to hold everything together for you and you do the same for them. And my God, is that wonderful!
I found someone like that. But life likes to play jokes and you end up thinking nothing is right anymore. However, life always turns everything around again, eventually. (Or so I hope.)
For me, you will never die. Even if you assume you will. Even if your tired mind tells you I will forget about you.
If I go mad, it won’t be because I didn’t love you. If I lose my mind, it won’t be because I didn’t love you.
You know I love you.
I love you so fucking hard, I think I may have underestimated myself before.
But I will not lose my breath over you. Unless you choose to do the same.
Until then, I will be here. I will long for your body, your mind, your soul. The beautiful human being I see before me.
We will never die.
And if we do, we will do so in each other’s arms. Whether it is Heaven, Hell or in the meaningless life we are living.