I thought love would be easy when I grew up.
When I was a child, I thought love would be easy. But reality came crashing down, pushing me to the ground—and it keeps getting heavier as I slowly learn that love comes in many forms.
Some might perceive love as a weakness, while others see it as something pure and harmless.
As I grew older, love turned into fear. A fear of not fully understanding it yet feeling so responsible for carrying—a fear of both loving and leaving.
With time, love turned into heartbreak. A single word sharp enough to stab me whenever I let my guard down, a bullet that could shatter me with the slightest touch.
Eventually, love turned into grief. A deep sense of longing for something forever lost, drowning in the idea of absence. All I could do was break down, cry, and somehow piece myself back together, over and over.
Now, love feels like anything but sincerity. And just as I once thought, love is always easy—to fall into, to break apart, and to grieve forever for what could have been.
Love is easy, or at least that is what I have always wished it to be.