You

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“I love you as certain dark things are to be loved,
in secret, between the shadow and the soul.”

~ By Pablo Neruda, Between The Shadow And The Soul .

You

I wish I could close my eyes

And see the world through yours

Your thought process is so forgiving and pure

I want to pack my bags and move into your mind

Where I could be at peace

But the only peace I get is when I’m asleep

And even then they come for me

So I will count my blessings and hug my pride closer

And I’ll be safe because when I look into your eyes

It calms the storm that rages in my insides

Even though I’ll never be with you

I’ll stay willingly at your side

~ Bluebell Rizzi


A very great peeve of mine is when people say, “You don’t know what love is”

I mean, what!? Everyone has a different definition for everything, let alone love. And no matter how well you think you know someone, you don’t know what’s inside their minds. You don’t know their deepest thoughts, feelings, and wishes. Most people never reveal all of themselves. That’s a diamond in the rough, and you’re very lucky if you’ve found that. So you have no right to say that to anyone. It’s insulting, patronising, and it also implies that you know more. Have you got it all figured out? Tell me then. If you can tell me, with no hesitation, what your definition of love is, then I’ll accept your opinion readily. But if you just shake your head as if scolding a small child when I ask you, I’m sorry, you can go f*** off. But now you’re thinking, what’s this girl’s definition? Is she a massive hypocrite? However, I’m prepared.

Love is… so many things. Love is knowing you would give your life for someone in a split second. Love is watching someone, day after day, while they become more and more beautiful, even when no one else can see it. Love is not being afraid to say you love someone, but at the same time being terrified. Love is wishing you could crawl into someone’s soul and live there, cosy and warm, for the rest of your life. Love is when you feel an inexplicable pain in your chest but you don’t say anything, because it’s unrequited. Love is smashing your walls down, throwing open a door and letting all your secrets come tumbling out onto the floor in front of someone. Love is seeing someone’s imperfections, accepting them and still feeling exactly the same about them. Love is knowing exactly how to deal with the other person’s emotions, and knowing what to say. True love is completely accepting that your love is unrequited, but still loving that person, in a way that doesn’t affect their life, and always being there to support them. Love is feeling the other person’s pain, in its entirety. Love is being so angry with the cards life has dealt you that you would kill, but concealing that from the card that would complete you. Love is pure, raw emotion: elation, misery, fury, lust, fear. Love is everything, in the most basic sense. I could go on.

I’m happy for you to tell me your definition. Please do, I’d love to hear it! Just don’t tell me I don’t know what love is, and don’t tell anyone else that either. Because if those two hundred and forty-three words describing it don’t count for something, I don’t know what does.

 

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