LOVE ; LY

To Maria, who saw my heart when no one else could

These thoughts have carried me since July, the day when I found out when I wouldn’t be able to create with Abbyll like we had it all mapped out.

Not another year. Not again.

I cried a lot during the following 48 hours, sitting alone in my English fams house, the cats somewhat around but not familiar enough with me to comfort me with cuddles.

The following night I sleep walked and managed to take my business phone to a place I couldn’t find it again following with two months being without my business phone.

That was the moment when I was ready to give it all up, to let it all go, to never look back and surrender whatever was left inside of me and say This world can’t hold my vision

But then the following night eventually came around and my thoughts pulled me back to the first days of creation. When I picked up a pen when I was just 12 years old, when I was trapped in the village of my homehood and endlessly cursing why I was stuck here for the most of my teenage hood.

Perhaps that was the beginning that made me become the writer I am today.

There was no internet, there was just feather and ink. I had nothing else but my mind, imagination, dreams and whatever my senses at that time were delivering to me by things that no one else could see.

It took me years to get comfortable knowing I was way ahead of everyone’s game - too smart to belong, too fragile to be understood.

Yet I kept going.

15 years later I can’t help but question if I have ever known what love really meant in the first place.

For sure I have experienced what it’s supposed to be like TO BE IN LOVE. Especially when you grow up as a somewhat female figure (although often I connect more with them inside of me than her ) nevertheless SHE has always something to say first whenever I get the chance.

So what does love mean in the 21st century?

I don’t think I have the universal truth just like any other poet, writer or author out there. Because to me love changes as we age and doesn’t divive between sinners and saints (My unconscious keeps quoting Hamilton to me and I won’t apologise for it)

Love comes just as change does. One moment you’re in the clouds and it feels like you could taste life. It’s almost like you can touch and feel it burning so bright inside your body that you wonder if you have ever felt like something before in the first place. But as the night comes love shifts into cruelty and just like demons makes you question everything.

Love challenges us to be our most vulnerable, unapologetic self and that is an essence that a lot of us have forgotten. I don’t exclude myself from the process.

One day I am writing four pages letters to someone that would never put his heart into a piece like I do and the other day I am far away, sitting in a haunted house and wondering if I am ever capable of knowing what it’s like to be loved back.

But beneath that lies the truth we don’t want to talk about.

That love isn’t a consistency. Love is everything and nothing all at once.

Love is a hidden smile. Love is a bright smile. Love is waking up later when everyone else has to go to work. Love is rainfall and thunder at the same time. Love is knowing that everyday could be your last day. Love is a cup of coffee, alone or with friends. Love is laughing so hard that you tear up. Love is crying at night when you don’t even know what you are crying about. Love is kind as much as it is cruel. Love is hidden, especially underneath the must does and don’ts of Social Media text back, text not at all, pretend to not care, care too much - although I couldn’t disagree more as though there is no such thing as too much, but only too little to understand and run away from your own truth that you do care.

The list could go on forever. Not to mention the layers we don’t talk about because we are traumatized by sexuality and romantic hollywood dramedy.

I love and care so much to my nearest and dearest that I do can say I have felt more love in my entire human existence of 27 years so far with friends than I have ever felt with family or lovers.

And still my biggest heartbreak came from toxic friendships I couldn’t let go off.

So how are we capable to love and present love and try again for love?

I don’t have the universal truth as mentioned before. But I do know one thing.

I would rather speak my truth, from a beating and bleeding heart, than die in the presence of silence and an uncomfortable what if.

Perhaps that is the beginning of a new chapter, where death is the entrance to healing and layers of love I want to welcome more in my life.

Because what do we really breathe for if not the layers of love and fear?