I’ve been heart broken, torn apart, left wounded and bruised to protect my own fragile beating muscle and I wonder sometimes why people fight for the feeling that got me there. The feeling that, in a second, could turn your life a hundred and eighty degrees towards hell. Then I remember…because it’s love.
For every individual, the effects of love are different. I can’t define what it is for you because I feel it my own way. For me, love is not wanting someone to be there next to you, it’s needing them to be. You crave their touch, their lips against yours, the sound of their voice, and their warmth. When they finally slip their fingers between yours again, placing them perfectly in the between, a sigh escapes your mouth and you can finally breathe again. Without them there, cinder blocks pile upon your chest, cracking your bones beneath them, aching your heart until the next moment they lay their eyes on you and everything can disappear. There’s no pain, no sadness, no anger in this world, there’s only love with them.
I described it the way I feel it. It may not be love like yours, but that’s what I think love is - recognizing their not your significant other, but a part of you, a half of your heart.
I love you, boyfriend. I wrote this for you.
Leave the R&B to Usher, the “JB” to the Jonas Brothers, the eggs in your fridge, and your woman jeans over your butt.
You can go home now, bye.