Sometimes I like that I believed your lies because it meant I thought the best of you. Sometimes I like how hard I tried to make things work, because it meant I was open to the idea of you. Sometimes I like the times things went wrong, because it meant I was willing to fight for you.
It’s bittersweet getting through something with the very person who put you though it, but I’m so glad I did because it meant life hasn’t yet, made me cold to the idea of love. And that’s because of you.
I wasn’t ready to love you when I met you. There wasn’t anything you could’ve said, or anything you could’ve done. You gave me time to decide, time to open my arms but I didn’t, because I couldn’t. Our love was lost, our chance was missed. If timing is everything, then time worked against us, and too often I look at the door and hope you’ll walk in, so we can meet again.
Why can’t we speak for the animals? Why can’t we have a meat-free diet without being a hippie. Why can’t we have a love for cats without being lonely or stand behind PETA without being accused of following a trend. Why can’t we smile at a puppy without being weak or give the animals love back, without being crazy.
Perhaps animal lovers just need to find that love. A therapists, a friend, a family member. It’s unconditional. It’s irreplaceable. A love that can be felt with no words, no sounds, no grand gestures. It’s a rare thing in life that reminds us that sometimes, love can be silent.
We spend our lives preparing for the day we graduate college. The day we enter the real world and the day we’re left on our own. Society has put it in our heads that life starts and stops when we’re handed a diploma. We have so much to do and so much time to do it, yet we live to believe it should already be done.
Life shows no mercy as we’re hit with a wind that keeps pushing back. Teasing us of happiness beyond the cold. Success beyond the struggle. The hardest thing to do is look up and look forward, so too often, we turn our backs, and lose sight of the path we were walking. The only way we’ll succeed is to use the push of the wind as momentum and use the idea of falling; as the very something that keeps us up.
Sometimes it’s easier to miss someone then to love them. To close the door instead of let them in. The idea of how things could be substitutes the effort of actually making it happen. In the end, some people cross paths to teach lessons, to change one another, to simply show a different path.
If we refuse to give our time to someone so willing to accept it, they have taught us all we need and we have to be fair in releasing their hand, and watching them go; for we should know better than to mess with heartache. There’s convenience to limbo, to the back burner, to I might miss you if you leave. But, there’s no reason to accept love, with no intention to love back.
Sticks and stones may break your bones but words can never hurt you, physically. Words can’t be stitched up, leaving a faint scar in three to six weeks. Words can’t be removed with relief of tweezers or the cold lather of numbing cream. Words are a verbal slap, leaving pain long after the swelling goes down. They create a label, a definition, a restriction of who you are. Even if you don’t believe them, even if they depict the old you, words are a stamp you can’t seem to escape.
You will always remember when someone asked why your tooth was discoloured, why your laugh cracks the way it does, why you’re selling yourself for a simpler life. You will always hold onto the idea that the bad words will follow while the good words are gone in the breath they are said.
The pictures in your cubical prove that happiness isn’t a paycheck, a Christmas party, or a dress down Friday. Happiness is the grass your family lays on, the yoga lessons you rush to after work, the pizza tradition you cling to, every Friday night. It’s the journal entries you keep at three a.m, the guitar lessons you apologize for ahead of time, the Netflix shows you binge watch on a rainy Sunday morning.
You have a job beyond rush hour and cafeteria lines. You have a job to live effortlessly. A job to live happy.
There’s a way to be rich doing what you love but for as long as you look at fabric lined walls, with lifeless eyes and a painful routine, the pictures in your cubical will remind you of the chances you didn’t take. They will absorb your possibilities. Your wasted potential. They will remind you that you’re there because your heart may speak the loudest but your head plays the safest.