To love is to suffer

To love is to suffer. To avoid suffering, one must not love. But then, one suffers from not loving. Therefore, to love is to suffer; not to love is to suffer; to suffer is to suffer. To be happy is to love. To be happy, then, is to suffer, but suffering makes one unhappy. Therefore, to be happy, one must love or love to suffer or suffer from too much happiness.

I’m going to write you out of me, but the wound, the wound I’ll keep. I’ve been searching for closure, for a reason, for the answers to all the questions my aching heart still sings, and I’ve come to discover something in my pursuit: we should not pine for closure.

Do you see these scars? They tell stories, they carry memories, and they are my whole life. Without the heartbreaks, the mistakes, and the misgivings… I would not be who I am.

Instead of walking slowly to my fate, I am able to swim in the ocean created by all of the tears I have shed. Instead of searching for words out of empty lungs, mine are filled with endless amounts of love I wasn’t able to give. Instead of carrying pain into the unknown future, I am armed with thicker skin from these marks. Instead of fearing love, my heart is dripping of hope for the dreams it has not yet reached.

I have been searching for a way to stitch these open wounds from my last love, but there’s a certain beauty to them now. They are raw and they are real. They are proof of how hopelessly a hopeless romantic can feel. They are the evidence to emotions that pulse through our veins. They are the love stories that are not yet over.

I’ve realized that I don’t need you to heal me. There’s a certain beauty in being broken. It means that I am not invincible. It means that I am not afraid to fall. It means that I am willing to give up my heart for yours. It means that someone else’s broken pieces may eventually compliment mine imperfectly.

I’ve realized that I don’t need someone to save me. There’s something gorgeous about someone whose eyes admit they can be weak. It means that not only see the world, but also really feel it. It means we don’t fear it because it’s already broken us. We are resilient simply because we’ve learned to function in our brokenness. We’ve found happiness in the empty crevices of our puzzled hearts.

I don’t need you to tell me why you left me, if you’ll ever find me again, where it went wrong, when you thought it was right, or any other 2am thought at night. I need those memories, the epic fights, the moment I fell for you, the moment I first hated you – I need them all as a reminder of the women I have become.

But I am not perfect. I am scarred and I am bruised. I am damaged in the best way. I have lived life enough to get hurt. I have hurt enough to grow. I have grown enough to find beauty in the remnants of a storm that tormented my heart. Now there is no symmetry to my heart, but is there truly ever any symmetry in art?

I will write you out of me – I promise you, but this wound I will keep. I will continue to carry my heart on my sleeve. It’s a badge of honor that I will carry with a plastic smile. It shows that I am not afraid to love. It shows that I am not afraid to fail. It shows that I stronger in pieces than I am whole – because I know what it’s like to put myself back together.

So keep your answers to yourself when you wake up with regret. My search for closure has ceased. Instead I’m looking for adventure to fill in the empty spaces. Instead I’m searching for the pieces of me I have not yet found. I go on this journey wounded – but do not get this confused with pained. I am proud of my sensitive heart. It is my biggest weakness and my biggest strength.

I am as fragile as paper, but alas, all the best love stories are written on them.

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