When you choose to love someone you know is wrong for you

When you choose to love someone you know is wrong for you, you have already willingly blindfolded yourself and aimed a sharp butcher knife pointblank against your heart. It could be his infectious laughter. Or the way he looks at you with a sly smile. Maybe he is terribly smart with a wealth of misadventures that keep you at the edge of your seat. His smell maybe? Or the way he sighs your name like a prayer. And you are the god. 

But the truth is there, lurking at the back of your mind, poking its ugly head seconds right before you fall asleep. You know this will not last. He is not right for you. Yet everyday you meander with your magnificent blinders on, light on your feet and sunshine in your pocket, telling yourself that he is the reason for your happiness. Every skeleton you uncover you call an unfortunate twist of events, a mere fossil too aged and must be forgotten. Red flags wave all around and yet you choose to ignore. Slowly you twist the knife in and say the pain is beautiful. This is what it truly means to live.

 

I am truly in love, you say. True love is when you embrace a person for all he is, you say. But when you see a scar and you say, what scar? Is that really love? When he says you are the salve for all his wounds, and you complete his being, is that truly what it means to belong to someone?

 

I say it is not.

Love is not cutting yourself up into painful pieces to complete his missing puzzle. It does not give a part only to take away a hundred fold. Love is secure on its own and does not patronize. It does not make you kneel just to appear bigger. Love is not omission of error. It does not romanticize lies. Nor give innumerable excuses for it and demand to still be understood and forgiven. Love changes for the better. Love wants you to be better. It kneels down to give you a lift and tells you to go on and jump from a plane if you want to, only to be your parachute and stable ground when you come back down.

 

One day, you will want to remove your blindfold, take the knife out. Now it is buried hilt deep in your chest. To take it out is equally painful but all at once — jagged ends, red eyes and throbbing veins. You are not used to the light and your eyes take time to adjust and see him again as if for the first time. He will be there with arms wide open but you know better. It is difficult. It will take time. It always takes time. You step away. You rediscover yourself, scarred and slightly scared, but stronger. A thousand steps forward and when you look back, don’t regret. Because true love won’t want you to.