“I’m searching to find an invisible seam,

a tear in the fabric of the cosmos,

so I can slip my fingers beneath the stars

and rip the heavens open

looking for you.”

-Micaela Royal

 

I’ve only ever been in love twice. The second time, I think I loved her, but I’m not sure if I was in love. I think I’ll never know. She didn’t love me back. Again, I wouldn’t know. It’s not like I ever confessed my feelings to her. Years later, now, I was pretty sure I was completely over it. All it took was one drunken proposition and I was back to where it had all started.

There is enough heart left in me to offer it to somebody worth it, to fall in love again and get my heart broken again and fall in love again again and get my heart broken again and again and… Until when? A few years down the line, when I give away the last piece of my tattered heart, can I say, “I love you with all that I have?” or will I have to say, “I love you with all that I have left?” If we never stop loving the people we loved, how do we ever commit again?

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