Love Leaves (But It Always Returns)
Love left and came back with new eyes, with new hands. Love left and came back with a voice I did not recognize, with a heart I did not expect. Yes – love left, but when it came back I could not help but forgive it, for it was more beautiful than I had ever imagined; it was bigger than I had ever hoped.
You see, when love left it did not ask me to follow it, but I insisted. I tried with every bone in my body to convince it that I was worthy, that I was capable of making it last. I dressed my words in silken poetry; I tried to make it stay with prose and praise. I pleaded with love, like a nostalgic beggar just asking to go home again. But, love still left. It still slipped through my fingers.
For a while, I did not hear from love. I felt like a prisoner in its silence – how could it forget? How could it overlook all of the things it had promised me, all of the things it felt within the soft center of my heart? I was angry with love, and yet I still looked for its eyes in every crowd, I still listened for its voice in every person I met.
When love finally came back, I did not accept it. I recognized with every inch of my soul a love that had a different frame, a love that had a softer voice. I searched for the love that had left me, I searched for the same palms, for the same flaws, for what I had known for so long. That was the love I had wanted, but that is not the love that found me, that was not the love that stayed.
On the outside, this love had kinder skin. It held me differently, it kissed me differently. Love had a diverse worldview, it laughed at things love hadn’t usually laughed at, it cried when love usually didn’t cry. Love changed. It was different and yet it was exactly the same. It was everything I had never searched for, and yet it was everything I had ever needed.
Love left, yes – but it left with intention, it left with purpose. It left to grow, to transform into what I actually needed it to be. Love walked away and came back altered. It came back bolder, stronger, and it may leave again, but I will always trust that it will come back. For love always has a trick up its sleeve, it always roots meaning into each leave. Trust me when I say that no matter how long it takes, love always comes back. Whether it looks the same, or feels the same, love always comes back. Whether or not it has the same name, or lives in the same place, or expresses in the same way – it always comes back. Love never leaves for good. Love always comes back. 