Complicated

 

Despite what poems and movies lead you to believe, sadness and love can be mutually exclusive.

You can find someone who makes you happier than you’ve ever been without fulfilling the other half of that dichotomy.

You can find someone who fits into your edges and completes you without needing to be broken first.

Too often we equate sadness with love.

Love should not make you weak.

Love is the beginning and the end and it is transformative and powerful and it can heal everything-

and it won’t break you first.

No, love does not do the damage- people do.

Pain and suffering are not the opposite of love- they are the absence of it.

There is not a fine line between hate and love- no, there is a mountain range.

Love should always be all the good things- only the good things.

Love does not hurt you.

Love is not that complicated.

 

 

 

 

Fire

They tell you to go for the one that sets your heart on fire

To find the one who makes your soul ache with recognition and exhaustion all at once.

But sometimes the one who sets your heart on fire does so with words made out of gasoline and matches.

He takes a candle wick and wraps it around your neck and toes and lights it on fire with his matchstick tongue.

Sometimes the one who sets you on fire does so with his words and he leaves you crumpled in a pile of ash.

Sometimes the one who sets your soul aflame leaves you to be blown away by the whisper of the wind.

Quilt

I remember listening to “Wake me up” by Ed Sheeran while you opened my sunroof and leaned back while I drove at midnight.

I remember the fog rising off the precarious back roads I would take from your house at 4am most summer nights.

I remember you pulling your jeep down to the end of your long, potholed, driveway and opening the back where we laid and kissed and heard rustling that was the family of deer that lived on your property.

I remember sitting on a blanket and looking at a curtain of fireflies all around us in the field by your house and you asking me if I was taking mental notes to write about you again.

I remember kissing you for the first time.

I remember going to your house that you lived in with your girlfriend and you grabbing the back of my jeans when she left the room and my boyfriend sat on the couch.

I remember you showing me the “pool” and grabbing my arm and trying to kiss me.

“I have a boyfriend.”

I remember texting my friend and asking if we could go because you were “doing it again” and I didn’t want your girlfriend to see.

I remember going to the bathroom and you coming in while I was washing my hands and blocking the door.

“Move. Your girlfriend is here.”

“Chelsea no- stop-I love-no- please”

Drunk. You always wanted to tell me how much you loved me when you were drunk.

You poured liquor down your throat and did handstands on top of beer and that was the magical mix that made you tell me the thing that I would’ve sang from the rooftops to you.

I remember laughing with you all the time.

I remember swimming with you in our best friend’s pool after everyone else went to bed.

I have this quilt work of tattered memories that make up all the elements of a relationship.

But if something happened to you, I wouldn’t get a call…probably for weeks.

If something happened to you, no one would understand why I was so sad.

Just like they didn’t when I stopped hearing from you.

And even if I remember it as a relationship, I have to remind myself

you never held my hand.

Not once.