draft one

Love letters that were looking for you.

Introduction:

What the fuck is love?
Honestly, I have no idea.

Well, that’s a lie. I have some sort of idea. I mean that there are so many books, films, songs and poems dedicated to it, you can’t go living life without having some notion of what love may or may not entail.

For some of you out there, love is what you’re in right now. All hearts and glitter.
All tears and drama.
All dates and make up sex.

For others they may have known it and decided against it.
Because it wasn’t worth it.
Because of having been hurt.
Because all you want is something warm beneath you.

Then there are those who are where I am; that is, not in love, not against it but a tad confused by the whole notion of it.

Which brings me to the rationale of why I’m writing this.

I’m writing this because my preconceptions on love differ greatly to those of what I have witnessed it to be, which is why I believe that I’m confused by it.

So here is a log, of sorts; detailing what I know, thought and have seen love to be. Through this perhaps I will gain a deeper understanding of what it is before I find myself unprepared and face first in it.

Some of these stories don’t have the happy ending, some do but all of them have their grains of truth running through them.

The longest goodbye.

It took her eight hours.

Eight hours to wake her sleep fogged mind and write down everything that she was going to say to him.
Eight hours to word and pen down all her feelings.

Scribbling out words that meant nothing and omitting those which were too raw to ever reveal on an ink-stained piece of paper.

Eight hours to convince herself that today was the day.

It took him thirty minutes to read it.
Thirty minutes to process, digest and decide on what had taken three years and eight hours to wirte.
Thirty  minutes before he looked up into her eyes, hoping that he would not see what was staring at him in square in the face.

She was in love with him. He could see it now; just as clearly as she could see that he was not.

Three years, eight hours and thirty minutes from the first Hello was what both of them have ever felt to be the longest goodbye.

It broke his heart to see her cry but he refused to give her a part of him he wasn’t ready to let go of.  He couldn’t lie to her. He wouldn’t.

Twenty minutes later he watched her leave, with all the tear stains, sniffley noises and broken pieces of a girl, rejected.