211115 - Post Blue

Love, love, love...

It's nothing more than a waste of time, really.
Yes, I love you. I also love him, him, her and many others.
The love I have for you is similar and yet different from that which I have for other people.
Why should it be so complicated?

I love you.
Maybe not in the same way you might feel for me, but I do love you.
How should I explain this to you?
That this love is so different and yet so similar?

I loved you before I hurt you, before you hurt me.
I say I don't, but this ache in my chest says otherwise.
Yes, I do love you.

I'd be lying if I said I loved you in the same way you did me.
Then again, I'd also be lying if I said I didn't love you in my own way.

Love, love, love.
This is why I detest it, this is why I loathe it as much as I don't want to believe in it.
Why should something appear so simple and yet make itself so complicated?
Why should we care, why is it so devastating that someone might not love us the way we do them?

This goes beyond the usual labels of romantic, familial, friendly:
I love him because of how he frowns when he focuses.
I love her because she makes me feel at home away from home.
I love him because of how his naivete makes him look at everything differently, and that fascinates me.
I love him and him and her and her because, because, because.

How should I tell you, scream out loud that I love you?
And how should I also scream into the void that I love so many others?
I have so much love to give, but it is not the kind of love that many are looking for.
Does this make this love of mine useless, then?
Or maybe it's not enough somehow?

I wonder.

They say you can't please everyone, but they forgot to mention how disgusting you'll feel for every person you let down in whatever way is or isn't your fault.

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