Has the world given up on love? Real love. The kind of love that feels peaceful, serene, and safe. How is one ever sure that they aren’t making a mistake when they say, I do?
I have an idea of what love is, what love should be. It isn’t something I can put into words. It isn’t something I can logically define.
Love is the way my Dad looks at my Mom. Love is the feeling I get when I think of my daughter. Love is joy. Love is angelic. Love is sound.
If love is all of these purities, then why with love does pain derive? Does pain mean that what you thought was love, wasn’t?
Are these moments of pain an indictment of some sort of half love? A sentiment that feels like love, but isn’t?
Can love exist after betrayal? Or is it a farce we tell ourselves because it lessens the pain in the now?
Is there really someone for everyone? Or are some of us not meant to live in tandem?
I don’t think the world has given up on love. And I don’t think love is limitless. If you love someone, don’t destroy it.
Don’t destroy them. Because that is not love.