It took me years to realise that love is a road where you may go willingly or unwillingly but you won’t wish to leave until you’re fully exhausted, almost ripped up from head to toe.
At 12, my eyes chased love like a wanderer at that busy street waiting for a hand to come and brush gently against my arms. Someone whose touch would feel like home, someone who won’t walk out of the door just after a fight, someone who won’t leave me alone on that street during the darkest nights. I always say I kept chasing love like a fool, maybe because we’re all fools in love to believe that it’s meant to be chased. We’re fools to believe that it won’t come to us if we sit alone with a heart full of unwanted hope ignoring the fact that even if young cupid’s blind, he’ll find us when it’s the right time.
At 14, I thought chasing people would make them fall for me eventually but it’s not a game you see, you can’t keep rolling the dice until it shows the desired number. You can’t keep holding onto an unrealistic expectation, a happily ever after with someone who barely acknowledges what you feel. You can’t… keep suffering.
At 17, I thought love was supposed to be a home whose walls are decorated with different parts of two souls brought together by destiny until I met a stranger who proved all those definitions wrong.
At 19, I think love is supposed to be a garden full of roses and thorns. Some days you’ll feel it’s presence like a freshly plucked flower from the garden and on the others, you may bleed and get scratched but that won’t make any difference to what you feel inside those fences.
—𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘶𝘭 𝘯𝘪𝘨𝘢𝘮
TheEnchantedGirl 