finding love

You’re someone who falls madly, deeply, head-over-heels in love. You intertwine your happiness with another’s. You lose the ability to feel enough on your own. You forget how to dress unless it’s in the clothes he likes best. You cast aside your other loves – the paints, the charcoal, the jazz shoes, the journal. You map your future with him as your North Star.

You hold on as the relationship crumbles, grasping at what was dreamt a honeymoon ago. You write desperate, pleading messages. You beg him to stay.

When he goes, you fight your demons to lift the blame you’ve lodged so deeply in your gut.

Months drift by.

You go home with men you will never love, many of whom you will never see again. You make a life that doesn’t include him – a promotion, a new apartment, fabulous friends who only know single, free-spirited you. Some days, you forget to ache.

You loosen your grasp.

Years, now.

You let go.

You dream your own dreams–ones that won’t slip away, because it’s your own grasp that holds them, only your heart that owns them.

You leave to travel the world on your own, because you can. You write to heal, to help make sense of the world’s messiness, to try to put words to the beauty of it. You dress up, dance, draw, dye your hair and chop it off, map out the future however you please – whether as a traveler or writer or entrepreneur.

You believe that one day, love will find you again.

Until then, that mad, deep, head-over-heels love you reserved for another—you save it for yourself.