Love

"How cruel was I to myself, to credit you for my warmth simply because you felt it. Thinking it was you who gave me strength, wit, beauty, simply because you recognised it. As if I were not already these things before I met you. As if I did not remain all these things after you left” Bianca Sparacino.

I miss how I felt when I loved. I love immensely and deeply. I used to enjoy diving into your eyes, memorising each inch of your skin. I know where your scars are and why you got them. I know each one of the freckles on your neck and the shape of your belly button. I listened well and loved encouraging you. I believed in you when you didn't, and I hugged you extra tight when you were sad. I recognised the pitch of your voice when you were excited, and I liked pinching ever so softly the tips of your fingertips just because.

I was your ride or die; I considered you in all my decisions. I liked holding your hand, recognising and talking about your qualities, and expressing how amazing I thought you were.

I never expected the same thing back from you; I didn't need it. I loved the way you loved me until you didn't or until you were mean, and I reacted. Or until you prioritised everyone else but me. Or when you didn't hear me or try to understand me, even when I was vulnerable and so open it was scary.

You loved the way I loved you. But did you love me? My vulnerabilities, my openness, my flaws, my wounds? You might miss my admiration towards you, but do you miss me?

On your birthday, I wrote you a card that said, 'Love is a verb, love is a choice, love is an action.' I chose to love you in the good times and the bad times, in the highest of highs and the lowest of lows. I chose you above everyone else, despite the ups and downs, among the billions of humans on this planet. I chose you to want to discover my wounds and try to learn to manage them and yours together. And I would have chosen you forever and a day. But you never chose me. So, I miss me in love. I miss how deeply and intensely I loved, how loyal I was, how much I believed in sticking with someone, how much I wanted to try and succeed, how genuine I was, and how committed I became to building a life with you. You weren't emotionally ready.

I had lost myself in making you see that, and what a waste of energy and time that was. Losing myself brought forward consequences; I had to learn to forgive myself for being so mean to myself, for not seeing my worth, only seeing it in your reflection. How cruel I was to myself for giving you that when you couldn't give me much at all.

In healing, I found myself again, this intense loving human I am. Who wouldn't want to be loved the way I love? No wonder you said you loved me; you loved the way I loved you. And I don't blame you. I gave you all of me—my scars, my joy, my vulnerability, my love, my fears, my past, my present, and my future, my promises, my forevers, myself.

I found me again; I am ready to love again. And you lost. You lost me, and you lost the person who loved you the most, the person who would have stuck by you through heaven and hell your entire life. The person who you could have grown open with, the person who you could have discovered yourself with, the person who would have held you, supported you, and been by your side, cheering you and loving you forever and ever.

I love me; I missed me; I miss you. I found me, and oh, how lucky who encounters this type of love. The love that only comes once to someone's life.