I hate when people push me out of line, leaving me stranded in a gray area. Do they deserve my patience when they leave me in limbo? Here, nothing is whole or certain, only quiet in-betweens that feel endless. I hate the pauses that stretch too long, the weight of waiting, the ache of being suspended in the air.

Most of all, I hate being neglected.

If clarity comes, let it be sharp and unforgiving. If pain follows, so be it. If beauty turns to ruin, at least it was once beautiful. I will endure because I deserve the truth. I deserve more, I always have.

A promise that's kept, not just left in the air,
A friend who shows up, simply being there
A hand that helps without being asked,
A love that’s proven, not just masked.

A sorry that comes with a change in the way,
A plan that’s not talk but done that same day
It’s kindness that lingers, not just a distraction
There's beauty in words when paired with action.

Bonus questions are always a little thrilling, especially in a jurisprudence exam. One moment, I was immersed in the law, the next, I found myself writing an essay about love, hoping it would somehow save me from failing. It's strange and funny how heartbreak can help in the most unexpected ways.

They say that to be loved is to be studied. In that moment, it felt as if I had a library of you inside my head, the version that I knew. My hand glided across the paper, smoothly translating a piece of you into a paragraph. I wrote about loving and not being loved, about bad luck and misfortune. These are concepts you once mentioned many evenings ago. For the last line, I wrote the quote from memory, sure I had it right because it has stayed with me like a mark. I hoped it would add a kick to the piece. Hell, that was an easy write! It came out simple but beautiful, with a sting to it. I could have kept going, if only time had allowed. As I walked out of the room, it suddenly hit me how profoundly that line now resonates with my life. How, in a way, I'm living it.

If love is vast, then so is grief. If love is a force, then so is the emptiness it leaves behind.

After laying down all my cards and spilling my love into words, hoping to place it somewhere other than my heart, I learned that it is simply too much; That no matter how I try to set it aside or fight it, love seeps into the smallest spaces. It spills through the cracks, demanding to be acknowledged. And every time I give it even an ounce of attention, it takes over me, growing into something bigger than myself.
I tried to outrun it, drown it in reason, bury it beneath time, but it lingers in the quiet moments until it consumes me whole. I'm left with no choice but to give in, fall to my knees, and let it take me at its mercy. I guess misery never really ends when all we do is call into voids without hearing another echo.

Could I stir fate into action by declaring that I have finally learned to hold love with careful hands? That I am better now? I want to be exactly what they need. I want to pour myself into every glass that needs filling, this time, neither too much nor too little. I want to be someone uneasy to let go of, to become the same love that haunts me in my silence. It's Valentine's day, and I have no other desires but to meet love where it stands.

This has held me back more than it’s ever pushed me forward.
This big feeling, a consuming fixation.

I’ve delayed myself for it, time and time again.
I’ve broken promises for it,
suffered the consequences, no matter how punishing,
not for my own benefit,
nor anyone else’s.
It hasn’t moved me closer to anything. It’s taken a limb but hasn’t taken me anywhere I’ve wanted to go.
It keeps me stagnant.