Love is a funny thing.
You expect it to be easy. You expect it to be a world of roses and laughs and perfect moments that you find only
You expect her to
always say the right thing, and
always know exactly how you feel,
or exactly how to react to it.
You expect her to calm you down when you're yelling or to chase you
when you run away.
You expect so much that you feel entirely, and utterly defeated when something doesn't exactly match up to all your plans. But that's the thing.
Love isn't a plan. It doesn't have
a certain beginning and it
certainly has no end, or a visible
finish line to those deeply in it.
Love happens; it is so
incredibly messy. People around
you can't comprehend why you do
the things you do, or why you
fight so hard for something that
seems to cause you so much pain.
Because simply, they can't see.
They can't see the invisible ring
of insanity that surrounds you
when you're in love. It's
inconvenient and painful and
devastating at times, but we can't
live without it.
What you don't learn is how hard love is. How much work it takes. How much of ourselves we have to put into it.
How it isn't worth it until we are
complete and utter idiots about it.
Love isn't her calming you
down when you yell. It's her
yelling, just as loud, just as
hard, right back at you, right in
your face to wake you up and to
keep you grounded.
I love you, more then Aladdin loves Jasmine. I love you, more then Noah loves Allie. I love you, more then Romeo loves Juliet. I love you.
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