Love is unfortunate. It often spreads itself across a thin line that breaks at any sudden indication that someone may be giving up. Love trickles through a small river with no sign of life except one person in the deep end gasping for air. Why is that person always me? Love drowns my securities and lifts my faults as if they are the only thing that define me. It transforms my anatomy. I’m pretty sure my heart should be whole but instead it’s scattered in pieces buried in the dirt beneath the bridge you burned but still you ask me to come visit? I’m terrified to move a limb in fear of collapsing from your harsh judgement. I’ve learned to suppress my dreams in order to have new ones that fit your needs.

No, love is not the problem. Love is not shoving the parts of you that make you who you are in the back of a closet so they will not be seen by the person you want to impress. Love should be selfless. It should be divine. It should allow you to uncover avenues of realities that describe who you are. And the other person should be in the front seat focused dearly on the amazing person you’ve become.

It’s unfortunate that love has developed a pessimistic perspective. Love is not the problem. The problem is that you haven’t learned to love yourself before you opened up to another soul.

That is unfortunate.