I Will Write Pretty About What Hurts

A guy once looked me in the eyes and said, that he loves the way I look when I’m asleep. How he could spend endless days gazing at the contours of my perfectly flawed face. I laughed and turned away. It was a nice thought, and I was flattered. But I never understood his theory or saw the beauty of it all.

Five years later, I spent the morning watching the way his chest rises and falls; wishing I could hold the seconds in the palm of our hands so we would never have to worry about the future. Or apologise for our past.

At that moment, I finally understood that beauty is more than skin deep. How the true essence of beauty lies not in looks but in the human spirit. That love consists of imperfections. And that the ugly mess of being alive is in all honesty worth the fight.

I once said that if we could meet again, I’d turn and walk away without hesitation. I would choose to never have met you, to never have loved you, and to never hold all this pain within my battered soul.

But in all honesty: I lied.

Your love is the one rational truth that binds me. Keeping me sane in a world constantly pushing to make me feel like I’d lost inertia – upside-down, inside-out.

Life is ugly, and it is messy, and I spend endless days waking up to disgust. Yet your love and mere existence is my sweetest antidote. You light me up, set my soul on fire. Your love shines a path during the darkest hour.

All the years I’d spent wanting to run away from you. Determined and sure that you were the cause of all my heartbreak diseases. Those nights I spent choking on your love. Gasping for air as I lay silently in bed while everyone around me falls off to sleep. All I wanted was for you to be happy. I’m sorry it took me years to realise that my happiness was all you needed to be happy.

You are not my hiding place. You are my finding place. Your presence allows me to discover myself; your love what sets me apart. What we have is special. Something not anyone can understand. Only you took the time to sit down with me and listen. The rest merely hears what they wanted to.

Things unfold the way they need to in the most meaningful of ways. And our lives, my dear, has been a compilation of a wonderful mess.


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