When she breaks, it feels like fire. It’s all consuming and it’s seemingly never ending. It steals every molecule of oxygen she’s trying to take in and she just can’t catch her fucking breath.
This is when you realize the truth about love. This is when life reminds you that not everyone is yours to hold and to keep. This is when you realize that not everyone is interested in giving, but only interested in taking.
But for fuck’s sake, why are you around if you can’t be around? Why do you pretend to love her when you can’t really love her through it all? Why do you take and take and take if you can’t give her back just a little?
When she breaks, it’s a tragedy. She’s the strong one, the brave one, the resilient one everyone can depend on. The world beats her down down down into the ground and she gets back up bruised and bleeding, but she keeps going… until the one time she can’t. This time her bones are broken, her heart is shattered, and her mind can’t wrap itself around another beating. Sometimes even the best of us can’t seem to make it through another day alone.
It’s difficult not to be angry at the love she is not given because she gives so much. She’ll pay your bills, she’ll clean your house, she’ll curse the day the person who hurt you was born. A lioness, ready to hunt down the hurt.
But love is a box. Some of us have large boxes, enough for the whole world. Some of us have small boxes, enough just for ourselves. No box is less than another, but all boxes should be grown. We should all learn learn learn to have more capacity, to love harder and stronger and more resiliently. Love that cannot grow is not love at all. It’s just… convenience and proximity.
Who’s going to love the person who loves the most when she can’t seem to love herself at all? Should we just let her fall?
Should we let her break and shatter and be ground into dust?
The world would be much emptier without her. The people she could have loved would feel a vacuum where she was supposed to be. They would be left wondering why a she-shaped hole exists in their lives. They’d never know her love because no one loved her when she needed it most.
God dammit, it’s hard to love her when she’s broken. It’s hard to listen to the shattered pieces clang together at the slightest touch. It’s heartbreaking to know that it didn’t have to be this way, that she didn’t have to fall apart. But it happens to all of us. We all break, we all shatter. But she was up farther than us. The crater she leaves is much larger and harder to fill with the earth that should be beneath her feet. She’s harder to rescue from the pit, but worth every effort and strain. Right?
Who’s going to love her when she breaks? Because if she can’t find love in the travesty, who among us can?