Feb 2020
What have I done?
I ****** up bad. I ****** up so bad.
I did something unbelievable. I'm not sure if I was supposed to do it.
And I don't know why it happened. I can't believe it happened. I just know it's bad.
So so bad.
See,
I think I might be in love.
Like I said, bad.
_________
I'm not sure when it started.
Maybe it's been like this since that day we first intertwined hands, and you made me into something I had never been. You made me yours.
Maybe it was just at this moment.
Maybe it's been every single day from the first time I laid eyes on you, you beautiful, beautiful person.
_________
I'm terrified.
So scared.
Scared because I might be too young.
Scared because others might not approve.
Scared because you might not feel the same way.
We only like each other. Not love. It hasn't ever been love. No one imagined love. Not until now.
Not until me.
_________
I've never been like this before.
These emotions flow.
They flow the way a storm rocks the entire ocean, the way waves crash against a boat and smash until there’s nothing but driftwood, the way a tsunami rips apart a city and washes it clean leaving the people frightened and forced to start anew.
They do not flow.
They come strong, sudden, beating against my chest, pushing up my throat, clawing their way onto the tip of my tongue, a second away from rolling off into the world before my teeth clamp down, pressing them back down into the dark crevices of my heart.
_________
My heart.
Not yet broken. Not yet whole.
In between. Struggling. Searching for the part that perfects its ever-pumping machine, but when it finds it, it wants to shut down, because how can you tell someone they are the thing necessary for a heart to truly live and thrive, for life to bloom and color, for dreams to waterfall into reality, and expect them to say it back?
That part is essential. But maybe not ready. Not ready to be a part of a bigger ensemble. So the heart survives anyway.
And it despairs.
_________
First love.
This is something that cannot be erased. Ignored. Forgotten.
Like the stars.
They paint a picture, a canvas the size of the universe, trying to encapsulate a feeling larger than life itself and everything that exists into two words.
First love.
It's something you do not want to let go of.
Like a blanket.
A childhood teddy, a token of youth and beginnings that you carry with you in every place you visit, it is like a limb, the thought of separation is unfathomable but someday, it is gone, it will leave, because it is no longer the thing you need most.
But like stars and blankets, when elsewhere, it is missed.
_________
Fear.
Fear and love. Never far apart.
Fear of gaining love.
Fear of having love.
Fear of losing love.
Fear of love.
Love is everything. It is what motivates. Every. Single. Person. And every action. The little ones and the big ones. Every act of every level of importance is fueled by love. Love is the founder of war. Love is the mother and father of death. Love is the force of destruction.
Love is ruthlessly sought after by all.
That is why it is feared.
That is why it is loved.
_________
But for there to be destruction, there must first be creation.
A gentle bud, pushed through soft earth.
A spark between two rocks, sudden, shocking, and gone.
The first breath of a tiny being, still pink with newness, living only on warmth and wonder.
We **** for love. But we live for it too.
And that is so much harder, but so much more worth it.
Love is worth every price you could pay. And yet it can never be bought.
It is simply created.
Often accidentally.
Not always conveniently.
But always important. A new stitch in this fabric that has been unfolding since the first second of time.
Whether a love is screamed into the tense air between two charging armies, or is never more than a whisper in the back of a mind, it is important.
_________
My love.
In one word: painful.
I cannot cope with this. I was not prepared to manage this sentiment. It is exhausting and inconvenient. I do not know how to handle this emotion.
I do not think anyone is supposed to know how to deal with love.
We must be ****** into it. Use our instinct. Learn on the job.
There is no guide or manual. No one can teach you. They can explain what love is and they can give love to you, but they cannot tell you what it is to give love away.
__________
My lover.
My roots. My stem. My core.
They are the inventor of light.
My dark sky was only dotted with little stars before they came. They surprised the world, my world, as they burst into brilliance, into glory. A sun. A sun to illuminate and warm a small planet. Special, and just a bit more important than the other stars. Because this one is radiant. Scintillating.
And chill.
They are smooth and cool. A calm. The centre of the hurricane. Untouchable by the rage and chaos that bubbles beneath my skin. Instead they cleanse it from my body while attaching an anchor to my heart. When the storm arrives once again and the ocean chews and swallows me like a monster made of liquid fear, I survive, because even though the anchor drowns me it also saves me. Saves me from floating off into an endless void of heart shards and loneliness.
They are the grass, still wet from the rain, between my toes.
The sand that scorches my soles, forcing light, quick steps.
Snow numbing my nerves as I run shrieking back to the friends who dared me into this freezing adventure.
But most importantly, love is a warm rush, like the sun is in my stomach, and a furnace is in my chest, and there is nothing I can do to tamper it. It will always be etched into my bones, long after they have washed up bleached on the shore. A fond scar on my heart, for this love, and the next one, and every love I will ever fall into. They mark us, leave something in is, shift our inner mechanisms and cannot be undone. We carry our loves with us forever, and remember them once in a while with a soft smirk, a dull ache, a bitter tear, or a wistful smile.
I will keep my love for you in me until the stars have all burst, and the void is everything, and existence ceases to exist.
And I can only sit here and hope that you will do the same.
I ****** up bad. I ****** up so bad.
I did something unbelievable. I'm not sure if I was supposed to do it.
And I don't know why it happened. I can't believe it happened. I just know it's bad.
So so bad.
See,
I think I might be in love.
Like I said, bad.
_________
I'm not sure when it started.
Maybe it's been like this since that day we first intertwined hands, and you made me into something I had never been. You made me yours.
Maybe it was just at this moment.
Maybe it's been every single day from the first time I laid eyes on you, you beautiful, beautiful person.
_________
I'm terrified.
So scared.
Scared because I might be too young.
Scared because others might not approve.
Scared because you might not feel the same way.
We only like each other. Not love. It hasn't ever been love. No one imagined love. Not until now.
Not until me.
_________
I've never been like this before.
These emotions flow.
They flow the way a storm rocks the entire ocean, the way waves crash against a boat and smash until there’s nothing but driftwood, the way a tsunami rips apart a city and washes it clean leaving the people frightened and forced to start anew.
They do not flow.
They come strong, sudden, beating against my chest, pushing up my throat, clawing their way onto the tip of my tongue, a second away from rolling off into the world before my teeth clamp down, pressing them back down into the dark crevices of my heart.
_________
My heart.
Not yet broken. Not yet whole.
In between. Struggling. Searching for the part that perfects its ever-pumping machine, but when it finds it, it wants to shut down, because how can you tell someone they are the thing necessary for a heart to truly live and thrive, for life to bloom and color, for dreams to waterfall into reality, and expect them to say it back?
That part is essential. But maybe not ready. Not ready to be a part of a bigger ensemble. So the heart survives anyway.
And it despairs.
_________
First love.
This is something that cannot be erased. Ignored. Forgotten.
Like the stars.
They paint a picture, a canvas the size of the universe, trying to encapsulate a feeling larger than life itself and everything that exists into two words.
First love.
It's something you do not want to let go of.
Like a blanket.
A childhood teddy, a token of youth and beginnings that you carry with you in every place you visit, it is like a limb, the thought of separation is unfathomable but someday, it is gone, it will leave, because it is no longer the thing you need most.
But like stars and blankets, when elsewhere, it is missed.
_________
Fear.
Fear and love. Never far apart.
Fear of gaining love.
Fear of having love.
Fear of losing love.
Fear of love.
Love is everything. It is what motivates. Every. Single. Person. And every action. The little ones and the big ones. Every act of every level of importance is fueled by love. Love is the founder of war. Love is the mother and father of death. Love is the force of destruction.
Love is ruthlessly sought after by all.
That is why it is feared.
That is why it is loved.
_________
But for there to be destruction, there must first be creation.
A gentle bud, pushed through soft earth.
A spark between two rocks, sudden, shocking, and gone.
The first breath of a tiny being, still pink with newness, living only on warmth and wonder.
We **** for love. But we live for it too.
And that is so much harder, but so much more worth it.
Love is worth every price you could pay. And yet it can never be bought.
It is simply created.
Often accidentally.
Not always conveniently.
But always important. A new stitch in this fabric that has been unfolding since the first second of time.
Whether a love is screamed into the tense air between two charging armies, or is never more than a whisper in the back of a mind, it is important.
_________
My love.
In one word: painful.
I cannot cope with this. I was not prepared to manage this sentiment. It is exhausting and inconvenient. I do not know how to handle this emotion.
I do not think anyone is supposed to know how to deal with love.
We must be ****** into it. Use our instinct. Learn on the job.
There is no guide or manual. No one can teach you. They can explain what love is and they can give love to you, but they cannot tell you what it is to give love away.
__________
My lover.
My roots. My stem. My core.
They are the inventor of light.
My dark sky was only dotted with little stars before they came. They surprised the world, my world, as they burst into brilliance, into glory. A sun. A sun to illuminate and warm a small planet. Special, and just a bit more important than the other stars. Because this one is radiant. Scintillating.
And chill.
They are smooth and cool. A calm. The centre of the hurricane. Untouchable by the rage and chaos that bubbles beneath my skin. Instead they cleanse it from my body while attaching an anchor to my heart. When the storm arrives once again and the ocean chews and swallows me like a monster made of liquid fear, I survive, because even though the anchor drowns me it also saves me. Saves me from floating off into an endless void of heart shards and loneliness.
They are the grass, still wet from the rain, between my toes.
The sand that scorches my soles, forcing light, quick steps.
Snow numbing my nerves as I run shrieking back to the friends who dared me into this freezing adventure.
But most importantly, love is a warm rush, like the sun is in my stomach, and a furnace is in my chest, and there is nothing I can do to tamper it. It will always be etched into my bones, long after they have washed up bleached on the shore. A fond scar on my heart, for this love, and the next one, and every love I will ever fall into. They mark us, leave something in is, shift our inner mechanisms and cannot be undone. We carry our loves with us forever, and remember them once in a while with a soft smirk, a dull ache, a bitter tear, or a wistful smile.
I will keep my love for you in me until the stars have all burst, and the void is everything, and existence ceases to exist.
And I can only sit here and hope that you will do the same.
So this is actually an interesting piece for me because I wrote most of it at a time when I thought I was in love for the first time but actually wasn’t, and I went back and finished after I finally did have my first love. The whole thing really tracks my growth through this crazy emotion. Also the style probably changed partway through so sorry for that!
