I’d Do It All Again If It Meant Finding Love

Falling in love was calculus.

There were some aspects that made sense. I could comprehend the very basics and the definitions that had been perpetuated in a social context.

A lot of it even felt natural to me; to love something more than a millennial mind knew it was capable of. And that was amazing; being vulnerable to something you knew had every power to ruin you.

And then there were the parts that made me want to jump out a window at three in the morning; the painstakingly miserable moments caught up in words that had no meaning and tones that sent you spiraling out of control.

You’re drunk on the intoxicating presence of something that makes you feel dreadfully underprepared; like everything you’ve been taught up until this point is utterly useless; every sting of pain and every endorphin released was so meaningless compared to the flesh and bones sitting next to you on the couch.

Life is new and nerve-racking. Their touch, their scent, their body is suddenly yours to explore and to call home.

It’s exhilarating; hearing someone’s verbal affirmation that you’re the most beautiful specimen they’ve ever laid eyes on. Feeling validated by stuffed animals and framed photos by your bedside. You’re surrounded with love.

Every facet of your life is drenched in this person. They find ways to entangle themselves in the deepest crevices of your house and your heart.

It’s comfort. It’s soft and warm.

You’re invincible. Because no matter the shit that was thrown at you during the day, the pain you had to endure, there is someone waiting for you at home who genuinely thinks that you’re special and genuinely thinks that you’re worth it.

In the moments you feel you’re too much and you don’t deserve to be shown kindness, there is a person who shows it to you anyway.

When you forget to take care of your own needs, there is another to help show you the way.

It’s elating and terrifying and awe-inspiring. It’s the spur for thousands of pieces of art, with words, movements, cameras and crayons alike.

For once in your life, you have someone whose heart beats in rhythm with your own.

It is simply everything.

But that’s exactly it: it is all too much. The highs are peaks of mountains and the lows are the center of the earth.

The crash is worse than the detox of an addict and the separation is equal to the death of something dear.

You may have soared on the wings of something inconceivable, but gravity has no mercy and you came tumbling down with the expectations you carried.

You’re suddenly paralyzed, because after every spoken and unsung promise that was made, people can simply walk away. And that hurts more than anything.

But maybe somehow it is all worth it. Maybe our worlds are brought to color when we meet the gaze of our awakening.

Maybe we owe it to ourselves to try it again and hope that we get to live at the peak of that mountain.

Maybe it’s okay to let someone in again; to discover someone’s strange obsessions and tell them every mundane detail of our day.

The dollars spent in therapy and the drugs to make it all go away; maybe it all leads up to the best thing that could ever happen to us.

Sleepless nights, pointless fights,

Innocent starts, broken hearts,

Maybe we get an unconventional but much desired happily ever after.

I don’t want to do it all over again, but if it means love in all its upmost brilliance, then I will. I’ll do it all again.