almost

I'm afraid I am not sure what it means to love. 

I know for a fact that I don’t know what love is anymore. 

I used to think love was something that you could box someone in.

Love was a way to threaten a person to stay.

Love was putting someone in a tiny box in the back of his pocket.

Love was putting your own needs in front of another broken heart.

Love was not patient, love was not kind.

Love was selfish and suffocating.

Satisfaction in love was never truly attainable.

Love was self seeking, everywhere but here, and loud. Extremely loud and scary.

Love was fear of losing him.

Love was a fight - one that you needed to keep clawing higher and higher, harder and harder.

Love was a battle in your mind to choose between yourself and him. 
And him always winning.

Love was a way to never feel enough.

I am not enough.

Love? Why would I want that? Why would I believe in love?

Maybe I am too weird. 

Maybe I am too anxious.

Maybe I am too psycho.

Maybe I am too ugly.

Maybe I am too fat.

Maybe I am too wild.

Maybe I am unlovable.

yet ~

Maybe love is the way they wake up exhausted at 7:30 to wave bye to you.

Maybe love is when she texts you at 3:45 in the morning to make sure you made your flight and that you are on your way home.

Maybe love is opening up to you in a car ride that will need to stop and park five feet from where you started.

Maybe love is shaking your head, laughing and giving you the biggest hug when he sees you crying again.

Maybe love is chasing you down the hill to make sure you’re okay.

Maybe love is buying someone sour patch kids and superwoman ice cream.

Maybe love is being quirky enough to splash in absolutely butt ass freezing water just to make you laugh.

Maybe love is making you drink Pina Coladas with your parents.

Maybe love is slipping you a note shyly at the most inconvenient times: when you are most tired and greasy and messy.

Maybe love is him laughing at you instead of being angry when you butt-dial him at 1 in the morning.

Maybe love is in the small glances during Biology class.

Maybe love is when she tells you that you are not psycho.

Maybe love is the small thoughts of grace.

Maybe love is the grand, selfless gestures.

Maybe love is sitting next to you when you just want to be left alone to cry.

Yes, maybe none of us deserve love.

Yes, maybe none of us can earn love.

Yet, love is everywhere. It’s in the small things, like when the wind blows on a purple sunset.

It’s in the big things, like being in the cabin dancing to the same song over and over again even when you’re sick of it on a day of a thunderstorm warning.

Love is in the ones that never let you go. 

Love is in the ones that never judge you.

Love is in the ones that think you are beautiful.

Most importantly, love is the one that leaves the 99 and chases the one who strays away, you.

You. When you are lost and grumpy and mean. 

You. When you feel the most ugly.

You.

Love will always choose you.

I hope one day I get to know love to its fullest.