The Face I gave to Love

 And then I realized that I could no longer put a face to love, for I had imagined it all. Every feeling was far too intense. Every thought, every word. None of it real. In reality, people didn't like to feel. They lied. They hurt. And only because we are all so broken.

But I always imagined a better time, a better place, with someone who meant everything, all at once. Where I was safe, and I was sure, and everything was right. Another lie. For these only happened in fairy tales, in movies even. And in reality, we never quite could get it together enough to be enough.

And I think because of that, I will always be longing. There will always be yearning.

But maybe, just maybe, that yearning is its own kind of truth. Maybe it's what reminds me that I’m still alive, still capable of believing in something softer. Even if love doesn’t look the way I thought it would, even if no one ever holds all of me perfectly, the longing means I still hope. I still feel.

And that, in this world, might be the bravest thing of all.