“Wow,” was all they could say to each other as they laid in bed.
They were both lying face-down, hands intertwined on a pillow between them. Turning to face each other, they smiled shyly. They could feel their sweat cool quickly in the air-conditioned room; soon it would be too cool for them to sleep separately. They did not move though; they were that exhausted.
“That was great,” one of them broke the silence with a wide smile.
“Yeah, it was… insane,” the other replied, eyes half-closed with a smug, contented grin spread across the face.
“Good night, Tim,” the other found the strength push himself up somewhat, and then pulled the other into his arms. Tim mumbled contentedly, and snuggled against his partner, eventually falling asleep.
This was a post that was much more difficult to write than I thought it would be.
It’s not so much of the fact that Love is a hard topic to write. It’s not so much that I find it hard to describe love. It’s more of the fact that I didn’t know what aspect of Love I wanted to talk about.
Alright, let’s try it this way.
It’s kind of hard not to.
For me, love doesn’t just mean saying the words “I love you.” It means having that emotion drive you to take an action. To do something. So when people whom I love call me out, ask me for favours, for help… it’s hard for me to say no. I also have the tendency to buy these people food, lunch and basically just shower them with love or what passes for it.
I’ll be honest though. I play favourites. There are those whom I’m willing to make the effort for, to ensure my schedule fits around their needs, and there are those whom I’ll only go so far. There are those I’ll push, those I’ll stand back.
And what hurts the most is watching them hurt and not being able to do more than the word “hug” or a sad face on the internet. The instinct to mother is strong within me, I won’t deny that. And there are times when I just wish I could grab all of them and hug them till the hurt goes away. And that’s the hardest part. Because they have to go through their own hurt till they come out the other side.
Someone once told me I’m more wife/mother material than I am girlfriend. Maybe I am. The hardest part though, is to keep the pain I feel inside inside and not let it leak out. Love is pain, don’t let anyone tell you differently.
Love is biting your lip and saying nothing when the person you love rants for things you have no control over. Love is staying your hand and resisting the urge to raise it in help, not just because offering help would weaken them, but understanding and allowing the ones you love to rise up on their own feet and watching them turn into kind human beings without help is the greatest love and help of all. Even if it hurts to see them struggling, but not being able to help, until they ask for it.
Love is realising that you are broken yourself, and in retreating from the world to rest, recuperate, and heal. Love isn’t just in giving yourself in love, but in realising that others love you too, and in learning to accept that love.
That there are people who love and care for you as much as you love them. That there are those who will never return the love you show them. That there are those who love you but you just can’t love them back.
Love’s a bitch. Love’s kind. Love hurts. Love heals.
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Original entry as appearing at Ink to Screen.