Loving someone is never a waste
The act of loving and its damage to the heart.
I am at war with myself constantly. An endless battle between the torments of my anxiety and the external torments from the people in my environment. My anxiety consumes me daily, but it is them who bring me out of it. Yet I love too much and that is why they become torments for me.
I have yet to define what love is to me, what it means, what it implies and what purpose it holds upon my life. It has yet to be molded from the countless love stories I’ve ever read or seen in a film, because I know that I will only fully comprehend it once I am full of it. But I know that love is something that exists within me, even though I might find it hard sometimes to share with those I cherish the most.
It’s hard to love somebody who makes it a task to be unlovable. Not that they’re not worthy of love, it is simply that their character makes it impossible to love them unconditionally even though life forces you to. It is hard to love not knowing whether you are a reciprocant of the love you are bearing upon others. I know for others the ability of loving might seem even more difficult than it already is for me, but I couldn’t fathom knowing that. What would one do knowing that others could love more than they ever did, or that loving them wasn’t easy either.
I often wonder what would happen if they were ever told, but knowing their reaction would be much more negative than what I ever expected, I chose to keep those thoughts to myself. If I’ve already gone an insane rabbit hole of this whole act of reciprocating love, then what good would it do to them pondering whether they were worthy of the love they’ve ever received.
Amidst this reflection of love, I like to think about this particular quote from a poem (now a popular Tik Tok trend), which said: “Its better to have loved and lost, then never to have loved at all.” I don’t know what I would have done for the past years not loving this person. But I know that my love for them never went to waste. It meant something, and hopefully it still means something. Because despite there being some things I couldn’t even try to comprehend about them, I know that my love did mean something to them and will continue that way forever; it’s a curse for the both of us. I wish I could see myself through their eyes to understand what it meant to be loved the way I did. But then again, what do they think of when they think of love? Or when they think about me? Do they think about all of the negative things instead of all the care I’ve given? I’m not quite sure yet what influence I’ve had over them, and what it is that they have learned from me, but I know that something must have stuck if it hurt so much to love them all this time.
I wish that maybe it wouldn’t be so difficult, but difficult things have a price to pay and I have a knack for overspending. There were things I would have rather done instead of typing this out and once again think about this one person who made it hard for me to love. But it doesn’t hurt to reflect on this one emotion which has dictated so much of my life, it only hurts never knowing whether it will be reciprocated, and whether the day in which I finally find myself satisfied with it will come soon enough. You can never love someone in vain, only regret that you ever loved them and not being able to do anything about it. I don’t regret mine, and hopefully I never will, but I know that someday, they’ll love me back the way I always have and will.