Falling in love with the wrong person
Is desiring strawberry ice cream, but
Something about the color is off,
so we choose vanilla, as we did yesterday.

Falling for the unavailable
is the soul's attempt to satisfy the need for deep connection
at low risk,
as the mind's already predetermined the impossibility,
which loosens the heart.

For if there was an available person,
we'd never feel that way—
they're simply too boring (or the risk is too high).
Because God forbid you hoped something would happen,
you truly believed,
and you were left crushed.

When you love the unavailable,
you're crushed to begin with,
You ask for it and embrace it, as it's all you've known.

When you love someone who could never
want you back in precisely the same way,
you're safe in a weird way,
In the unreciprocated, impossible-to-fulfill
fantasy
that you have full control over.

Something the inner child
never had.

To love someone near, someone close,
is to admit you have no control.
It's better to have full control over a sad situation than half control over a happy one.

As Seneca puts it, "The man who has anticipated the coming of troubles takes away their power when they arrive."
When love occurs only with this safety—that the trouble is anticipated,
the reciprocation is impossible,
the fight for it is what matters, what drives us,
not the end goal.

Loosened hearts amidst a sea of certain disappointment,
pain,
unreciprocated effort—
that's when my heart loosens,
when there's certainty.
And in love, true love, there is no certainty.

This is the unconscious desire to control.
And until I realize that love is vulnerable,
truly vulnerable,
not vulnerable in a "here are all my secrets" way,
but "please stay away,"
not vulnerable in an "as long as you're far away,
I'll love you all the way" way.

This is not vulnerability,
it is cowardice.
But I have self-compassion for my inner child,
she's afraid because she's used to unpredictability.
And the only certainty
is that it will be bad,
eventually.

But what if,
just once,
I let go of the reins?
What if I allowed myself to hope,
to dream of a love that isn't tainted by fear,
where I have no control,
but it's real, it's near?

What if I trusted that vulnerability
could lead to something beautiful,
something more than the safety of sorrow,
more than the comfort of control?

For true love isn't about control,
it's about the willingness to fall,
to trust,
to be open to the unknown.

It's scary, yes,
but perhaps, it's worth the risk,
to find a love that's not predetermined,
not bound by the fear of heartbreak,
but one that can truly grow,
beyond the confines of safety,
into something profoundly beautiful.