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Love Is Not a Choice

For All the People Who Had Their Heart Broken

It’s hard. Being in the middle is so hard.

This feeling of staying between two fires, you can get burned so easily. I think love is so overrated. Love will tear us apart, like Joy Division said. I’ve got a strong fear of not being loved back. I’ve always wanted to not get attached to someone, but if people who love will hate, people who hate will love. I loved this guy, so much, I cannot even breath if I’m next to him. It’s been five years now since we don’t talk anymore. He had the most beautiful eyes I had ever seen. I could not speak to him at first, as if I did not feel worth telling him anything, I did not want to ruin it, consume it, but I did not want to end the moment. We went out once, and for a year, I tried to feel his eyes staring at me, I knew he was talking to me about some people, but I did not care. Then I began to understand. Love is only wanting the good for a person, even when things are bad, but fucking bad, and for him it is worth less than the earth that tramples. Be there, always. That day I took courage, went to a friend of his, and ended up writing to us. I still remember, when I saw the message, I felt so happy and so sad, I did not want to ruin everything.

Then one day we stopped, and found that you preferred to spend your time with another. It hurt me a lot. I looked at you being happy, seeing you together hurt me, but you were happy, and I convinced myself to be too.

Then the summer, I tried to ignore you, until I discovered that she was gone. I imagined the moment when I would go back to school, I had settled for a little summer, and I imagined your reaction. 

And then, when I resumed the courage to talk to you again, I saw you again with her. I felt my heart breaking into pieces. I heard it, I swear, collapse inside, like in a huge black hole. To see you together, to kiss you, to laugh, to look at the looks, while I looked at you from afar, and I smiled.

Two months like this... I was happy when it ended, I can not deny it, but then I saw you sick, and I just wanted to see you feel better.

Then nothing, there were the usual likes, the usual stories on Snap, the elusive looks.

Then one evening, a mistake, and we found ourselves talking. You were changed, I think. You listened to the things I had to say, you were kind, you wanted to know how I was, but you did not want to expose yourself, like a soldier who was hit and tries to avoid other bullets. You were hurt. You did not want to expose yourself, and I do not even, for the same fear. And now we are in the middle, in the limbo of unrequited loves.

I do not know how you feel, maybe nothing, probably nothing. But I do, and I hope so much when we talk.

What are we? Nothing probably, as we'll never be. There is no right person at the wrong time, there are wrong people who remain wrong, although we try to shape ourselves to fit perfectly.

Mine was love, it still is, but as usual people tend to fall in love with what is unattainable, we look for what we do not have. Mine is love, it's funny that I say it, but it is, fuck it is. It destroys you. Yet I would have my heart destroyed a thousand times, just to feel your eyes on me.

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