What Is Love

What is love?

Anytime anyone hears that line, I’m sure they get reminded of that popular pop song, the one with such a great beat that you didn’t realize just how deep the lyrics were.

We humans are naturally like that.

We hear a great rhythm to a song without really hearing the pain underneath it all. I guess you can say the same thing for relationships with those pretty rose colored glasses. We’re too busy trying to see the good in it, not even knowing that the whole time the other person was killing us.

So….

What is love and why is the word used so loosely? Is it a habit at that point? Perhaps a polite goodbye? Maybe even an act of pity. Only the perpetrator would know, because deep down, love can be just as strong as hate. And it’s a lot easier to hate someone than it is to love them.

I learned the hard way as I poured myself into someone who didn’t deserve to be filled. The more I poured, the more I lost myself. From an outsider’s perspective, you’d call me a fool, that I was purposely self sabotaging myself. And to an extent, I’d say you’re right. But if you haven’t been in shoes like mine, you’d never truly understand this…foolery.

I’d start from the beginning, but I’m sure you’ve heard of stories like this. The man starts off nice and ends up ruining the woman’s life. So I don’t think it’s necessary to get into the details of that.

But this ending, you could say it was an unexpected, yet well deserved twist.

I saw red.

Much like any other victim would when they keep getting picked at time again. But this red was real. It was thick, warm, and smelled of iron.

I could be just like him and say it wasn’t my intention, and that I’m so deeply sorry, knowing full well I meant all the pain I caused. But I’m not enough of a narcissist to do that.

I meant it when I said I hated him just as strongly as I once loved him. I meant it when I told him I’ll never forgive him because he never gave me a chance to. And I meant it when the bullet crashed into his skull. It was a quick death. A grace I had given him despite wanting him to know what it felt like to slowly die by the words of a murderer.

I don’t even think he realized that he was going to die, much like I didn’t know I was when I chose to take him back. And that thought in itself isn’t satisfying.

I believed—hoped that I’d feel a sense of freedom, like all the weight he pressed onto me would lift like it never existed in the first place. But instead I was left with anger. I was angry he couldn’t even feel it when it happened. I was angry he couldn’t be there to watch himself at his funeral. Because all I had known was the death of me. I had to watch myself die over and over while he laughed, and yelled and pretended like nothing happened. I had to toss and turn at night and have the most vivid nightmares, while he slept so peacefully and woke up from dreams he never remembered.

I was traumatized. Why couldn’t he be too?

I miss opportunities, I always did. I didn’t think how impactful I could make something in my life until after the fact. And this just had to be one of those times.

I crumpled to my knees, the gun trembled in my grasp. The tears came faster than I expected. They were hot, as if they were boiled by my own blood.

But the silence.

It was that silence that scared me.

No more cursing of my name, the thunder in his voice, or the endless echoes in my head.

No more…love?

Maybe I am just a fool, already missing a future I knew, and fearing the one I don’t. Yeah… I’m foolish.

He used to say that.

All the time.

I guess he’s right.

Was.

So….

What is life?

What do I protect now? What do I brace for? I created more problems than I could solve. I don’t know how to live without feeling on the brink of dying. I feel like a child just now learning what the world even is. It’s this big, scary thing with monsters and danger lurking in every corner and under your bed. Everyone looks like they’re out to get you because the last one did.

He got you real good.