If romance is dead, then I suppose there are none to blame but the hopeless romantics. It was a boy, not too long ago, that taught me romance – real romance—isn't something hopeless, or unenergetic like stale poetry, or futile like canned compliments.
Romance is only a fuel of greedy people. The reality of love was much more than that.
Love doesn’t happen in a book, where a few pages away and the eight letters would be uttered, and they would fall in love forever, and stay with each other together.
No. That boy did teach me something. He taught me that love runs even deeper that veins and the heart.
Loving someone is putting your own love on the line, trusting the other person more than you trust yourself. Loving someone is showing all your good charming sides, but trusting them to kiss your tears and scars too. Loving someone is like being part of them, like a red string attached to your hands, yet it extends to the sky and beyond.
I’m still young, and who am I to talk about love? But that boy, he taught me more.
He taught me that loving someone isn’t enough. You have to choose them. Everyday. Every single day, you have to pick them over anything else in life. Over and over again. You count the minutes until you see their face that has already been engraved in your brain.
Just loving someone isn’t enough. It isn’t a game. It’s giving your heart, soul and choice to them.
Loving someone is like giving the person a gun and guiding them to point it at your heart, then just trusting them to not pull the trigger.
That boy, he told me all of this, but I didn’t know. I didn’t know until I saw my own red string, attached towards the sky.
It was just hanging there. Waiting.
Author Notes: Not a lot of you will understand some parts. I know. It's very vague, but I do want to keep it that way.
Thank you for reading. Hope you start thinking this way too.
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United States • 17 years old