Wasn’t perfect. In fact, it was the exact opposite. It was torturous, and within that lied more fear and insecurity than I’ve ever felt outside of it. I felt pressured to be perfect, or consequently, replaced. I wanted so badly to be something reminisced, something everlasting. So, I worked overtime to leave a mark, so deeply imprinted it’d be fossilized before it vanished. I wanted to be the one. One of those high school stories where the fairytale never ends. Where the ‘happily ever after’ just gets better with time. A rock to which aging didn’t necessarily mean eroding, but becoming more versed and tolerant of all the tendencies lying so adamantly within that love. The level head, grounded even when we were so obviously floating throughout the skies of that love.
But just because it wasn’t perfect, doesn’t mean it wasn’t amazing. It was the first breath I’d ever taken, over and over again. The sigh of relief after feeling a burden being lifted from your heart. It was hope, hope I’d never before had. It was pain simultaneously, it was rain and cloudiness. It was impaired vision, sometimes not allowing me to see straight. It was distorted and segregated emotion coming together to piece the puzzle of contentment. It was a cycle, a dreadful, roller coaster of a cycle, but it was one I never wanted to end.
But with time, nearly all things come to an end. Especially when the flames cease to exist, and burn as brightly, and with as much intensity as they once did.
So overall, my first love was an interactive lesson. Both my love, and love itself acting as instructors. Teaching me things I’d never grasp without practice, without patience. One where I was required to work out all of the problems in front of the entire class. And when failing to understand or solve one correctly, I was mocked by all present within that love, even the sometimes judgmental and overly opinionated bystanders. And since I didn’t study, and try to build strength in places where I’d lacked it, that love became entirely subjective to my lack of work ethic. And slowly my instructors began to give up on me. Until all of those problems, alongside my lacking the ability and knowledge to solve them, forced me to resign as caretaker of your heart.
I gave up, you gave up... We gave up...
And forcibly, out of curiosity, my constantly wondering if i could’ve done and understood it all, aided in my deciding that I’d rework our problems in my spare time. Just to see if I could’ve done it...
And just as I thought, all of the equations could’ve ended in “you + me = us together” but instead we were divided by our insecurities/distance/arguments/intolerance/weaknesses/distrust and overall inability to understand exactly what love was.
You were a lesson, alright. One learned with much practice. One I finally mastered, and put up onto my shelf of examples.
Cause now when I’m failing, I look at where I’ve gone wrong, I work out those problems to the best of my ability.
And when I don’t know, I ask. When I need help, I take it.
You were the lesson that taught me HOW to make it.
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Critique and/or be stolen so I can feel famous on the internet.