I spent all my life only saying what was really on my mind. It’s not to say that I never lied or been a complete saint incapable of anything wrong; it’s just that I have always thought that what we said had meaning. Deep meaning. So I could never say something that I didn’t think. I couldn’t say I love you to someone I didn’t love, and I couldn’t yell forget about me to someone I did.
What I said was of extreme importance to me, is of extreme importance to me. I have to mean every word that comes out of my mouth, always. So it figures that I always put extra care in how I phrase my sentences, how I write my messages, how I translate everything that runs into my heart and soul in words. I always thought that people in relationships that fought and became very dramatic about it were sort of… reckless. Reckless about other people’s feelings. You can’t say « it’s over » if you don’t absolutely mean it. For me saying something like this is final, it’s like a death sentence, if you say it’s over to someone, you can never go back to them. Your word must mean something, otherwise we’d just be spewing nonsense all day long. And who would we trust then ? How is it fair to someone to say something that you don’t mean ? How is it fair to toy with other people’s emotions, insecurities ? But I’ve been told that I’m way too serious, that life shouldn’t be this strict. Yet I don’t believe it has anything to do with strictness, or austerity, I think it has to do with honesty. Being honest about how you feel, what you want, how you speak your mind and your heart, how you are sincere.
But with that sincerity comes another thing that I didn’t expect. While I write what I feel, and how I feel it, I can’t predict the future. So when I write about love, I’m careful I don’t overuse the word forever, or even use it at all. Because even though I would mean it with everything that I’ve got, I don’t know what the future is holding. I know myself but I don’t know destiny, faith, the other person in front of me. And even myself is constantly changing, never lasting, my « self » is fleeting. In a whirlwind of thoughts, feelings, desires, needs, wants. I am not the same person I was years ago, and I hope not the same years from now. I want to constantly evolve, to constantly improve and better myself. Be even nicer, more helpful, loving, caring, forgiving, I want to be of use, to matter.
So if I think this way, writing about my unadulterated love for my soul mate, the one I chose, is excruciatingly hard. Because I know someone out there is reading what I write, I know I will have written it. And I also know that if something bad ever happens, that someone will be like – I will be like – remember when you thought it was for forever ? Bad irony.
Yet I still yearn to write it, I yearn to lay it on here forever; say that I love him, that I treasure him, that I think he’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me. That his soul matches mine, and that destiny crossed our paths for a reason. For me to help him and for him to help me. I empower him and drive him crazy, he soothes my soul and fire up my nerves. He shushes me because he knows it’ll drive me mad. And I love to annoy the shit out of him. I married my best friend and I’m forever grateful. And I will remain grateful whatever happens. At least I would’ve known what true love felt like. And I know it sounds somewhat dramatic and unnecessarily hard, but who I am is somewhat dramatic and unnecessarily hard. And from needing to mean everything comes a price, of sometimes keeping shut when all you wanna do is shout. But I’m stepping out of my comfort zone to shake things up. To learn how to let go. To learn how to be in the moment and not overthink the future. To accept that whatever happens in life happens. To learn how to be reckless. Not that reckless. Just a little.
Just enough to say you are the love of my life. Thank you for existing.