When two people don’t love equally, there’s a giant elephant sitting patiently in the room. Nobody wants to speak of its presence, to admit they both know it’s there. But everyone can hear it breathing, the floor creaking beneath its weight. It’s impossible to ignore. It just stays there, waiting.
When two people don’t love equally, the one with deeper affection will feel as if they’ve gone crazy. What are they missing? Is there something they could do differently? They won’t understand how sure their heart can be when the one they’re so in love with doesn’t reciprocate. They won’t understand how they can feel so much electricity from a pair of lips, as if this is how lightbulbs came into existence.
When two people don’t love equally, the one with less affection will hate themselves. Maybe not fully, but an element of self-loathing will slip in. They’ll wonder what’s wrong with them, why they can’t seem to feel as sincerely.
When two people don’t love equally, there’s a lot of crying. And it comes from both parties. The kind of crying that comes when a heart is broken in a way no one can comprehend. The kind of crying that comes when you desperately wish you could change something. And maybe the worst kind — the one drenched in guilt.
When two people don’t love equally, someone gets hurt. And someone has to do the hurting.
But that doesn’t mean they don’t ache too. That doesn’t mean they aren’t breaking just as hard.