I’ve met love before. I’ve met it in different forms. I’ve met it when it was for me and when it was no longer mine. I’ve met it when it wasn’t enough and when I wasn’t enough. I’ve met it when it was all I had left to believe in and I’ve met it when I didn’t even know it was meant to exist for me.
I’ve also gotten to know love. I’ve known it when it moved away, when it argued with me and when it decided it was no longer meant to be in the picture. I’ve known it when timing was right and wrong. I’ve known it even after every wrong turn. I’ve known it when I had to face it in confrontations, when songs suddenly felt like I was listening to it with a new pair of ears, and when it waited long enough and hit me on the head with a hammer to prove it was right in front of me the whole entire time.
I didn’t know I’d have such a personal description of love even when it’s not really at the front steps of my door right now. I didn’t know I’d have an experience that’d help me determine what’s good for me and what isn’t, what to believe and what to pass right through— Love to me is getting hit by a train I never saw coming. It was saying it out loud for the first time like it was my first time coming up for air after being under water for who knows how long. Love never disguised itself, it just waited for me to notice it. It was obvious even for the most oblivious.
However, love was also life showing me how vulnerable and fragile it could be. Love is precious and it doesn’t always stay but it doesn’t make it any less meaningful. Love is choosing to do it all over again with the same outcome versus choosing to keep the person forever on the condition of love never taking its course. Love, real love, is acceptance. Accepting that you know how powerful it is and the many forms it comes in. Love is a power I cannot time and more importantly, I shouldn’t regret.