untitled letter

Dear You,
If you ever read this, know that you're impossible to me. I can't understand you or what you do no matter how hard I try. I've tried for a very long time to let you in, and I hoped that you would do the same for me. However, you've neither let me in nor cared that I tried to let you in. You are human, and you never knew the depth at which I cared for you. Part of it is my fault for never telling you, but part of it is your fault for never caring enough to see that I wanted to tell you. I believe it was best: that I didn't tell you. You and I, we're complicated. If life were simpler, if circumstances were easier, maybe you would have seen. Maybe I would have shown you. I honestly believe that God can make everything from nothing. Darling, we have more than nothing, but we are far from everything. Maybe I am stupid for expecting you to care. Maybe I am ignorant to believe that you would ever care. Or maybe, I am just human for wishing that you cared about me the way I care about you. I will continue to love you; after all, that is what I promised myself when I said I would love you always. However, I promised myself that I would not be the girl on the sidelines. I want you to be happy, but currently, I cannot see myself being happy without you. But, just as happiness is temporary, so is unhappiness. I do not expect you soon, darling, I do not even expect you ever. One day, I hope you will see everything I've tried to show you. Maybe that day is tomorrow, maybe that day is later, or maybe that day is never. 


As I've told myself so many times, "Delight yourself in the Lord and He will give you the desires of your heart" -Psalm 37:4

Real love

Real love loves despite flaws, despite imperfection, and despite mistakes. Real love is focused on the object of its affection not the actions of said object. Often we replace real love with infatuation and with time and mistakes, infatuation fades. Real love does not lessen, but grows. Real love is there when nothing else is, and real love carries throughout the darkest of nights as well as the brightest of days. Real love, to be stated simply, is always.

Maybe it's not about what we can see. Our lenses are small; our eyes can only see what's directly in front of us. Unless we turn, unless we open ourselves to new possibilities, to new ideas. If we change our perspective, perhaps we would realize that it's not about us. Me, myself and I. Those words hold so little value when compared to you, us, we. Sometimes the only way to move on from struggle is to help another through theirs because in that time ours becomes second priority and we find that maybe, just maybe, it wasn't as difficult as we thought it was.