There’s this thought that plagues me from time to time and it leaves me in bewilderment again and again each time it crosses my mind.
I’m a hopeless romantic. Perhaps one of the many faults of being born under the zodiac sign Libra. Emotions mean more to me than physical objects, than tangible thoughts, and definitely more than the reality set before me.
I love to love.
Love to make people happy, confident, strong.
Love to make smiles appear on often grim faces.
Love to feel warm, secure, safe.
Love to be told they are loved
and Love to tell others they are too.
A certain ex-boyfriend of mine asked me a question that still stuns me today:
“Did you ever love me?”
I hesitated when telling him that I never lied about my feelings. I was and still am far too in love with the idea of love. I love that sense of contentment that you receive knowing that someone is willing to spend the rest of their lives by your side. I love this mutual passion that burns within the heart.
Maybe I’m overthinking this or maybe this is just how it is and how it is always going to be. I will always love love. I will always reach for this emotion that makes me feel not so alone in this world. That makes me feel like I’d be fine with nothing else.
It is due to this nature of mine that I think sometimes, I’m in love with myself. I’m in love with this flaw (virtue?) in my personality that allows me to be happy with love from almost anybody.
Have I ever been truly in love with another person?
It’s definitely hard to say.
Maybe all this time, I’ve just wanted someone to take the coldness away on those nights where the moon hides herself away.
Someone to wisp away my tears for those moments when I feel like the whole world has turned its back to me.
Someone to tell me that they love me for me and wouldn’t change a thing.
Someone to love.
Someone to love me back.
But not necesarily someone to fall in love with.
Love is such a complicated matter.