At least, not the way we think it does.
Is it an action? An emotion? A choice? Is it one of those things that just happens or does it slowly develop? So many people have so many definitions and ideas and when I think about it...
It just doesn't make sense.
How can one word, one small word, mean everything and nothing at the same time?
I used to like to think it was a choice.
That as long as you chose to love someone, it would work out. It would be okay. Everything would be fine. But that's bullshit.
And before that, I thought it was a miracle.
I thought that love conquered all. That's even more bullshit. Love can't cure cancer. It can't bring back the dead. It can't just make everything fine again.
Love, if it existed, would be cruel.
According to us, it drives us to kill. We kill those we love, those we don't love, and everyone in between for those we love. We rip each other apart, inside and out, in the name of love.
I guess you could say it's a choice.
We choose love as an excuse, because who could ever be mad at love? After all, it's a miracle. It conquers all. Even jail, right?
We use love as an excuse to hurt each other.
My dad used to rip me apart, day after day, word after word, until I almost killed myself, all in the name of love. He would tear me down until I couldn't love myself, all for love.
Love makes us its bitches.
My friend once tried to kill herself because her boyfriend she loved so much decided he didn't love her anymore. Because her world was empty. No one loves her enough. Not even herself.
We must be heroes if we do it for love, right?
Those boys that shoot up schools and kill little girls that won't go to prom with them because they "love them so much," are they heroes? They did it for love right? Or is it just an excuse?
The closest thing to love I've seen is my dog.
But if I left the gate open, she'd take off and never come back. Maybe the reason we don't have love is because we expect too much from it. We expect it to be fast, but slow, and everything else.
We expect it to be our slave yet we are slaves to it.
We race towards our ideals of what it should be, and we trample what it actually might be beneath our greedy feet. Love doesn't make you a hero, it makes you a coward. It blinds you.
You blind yourself.
We all say we need to love each other a little more, but every day, The amount of shootings increases. The death rate goes up. Divorce rates go up. Suicide rates go up.
Then everyone is just a little unhappier than they were.
But the truth is, it isn't because of love. No. It's because they don't have it.
I wanted to kill myself because I felt unloved.
I wanted to stop existing in a place where love wasn't. I became a slave to my idea of love. I was going to die for my idea of love. Surely there had to be some love in heaven, right?
But then I woke up.
I had my heart broken, over and over. And I thought I had love, and then I didn't, and I broke again. Then I realized, love doesn't exist.
And even if it did...
It wouldn't exist for me. So I stopped chasing the impossible and I stopped dreaming. Why love something that can never love you? So I stopped loving love, I picked up the pieces...
And I'll spend what's left of my heart on something more.
Because I deserve it. Because I deserve to fill the cracks with something real.