Love

They said love is beautiful. That it is magic, but what if it is black magic. No one told me how tiring loving can, how one can go on being happy for that another person and get tired of talking of love and clear skies and bright flowers. Maybe, some will say that it is not love when you get tired and not share the talk of ugly things as well and not let your heart out and maybe they are right. Love shouldn’t be about adjustment, it should be soft and comforting like that pillow I cuddle with when I am sad and put my leg and arm on it to make myself comfortable, but then, is that what pillow wants? It is a bit like that, in love, I think one need to adjust and not because they have to but because they want to.

I never loved small talks, never liked to go on places high up on the city, never thought of sitting on a branch with legs dangling down. But I do all this, to see that smile that appears on his lips when he sees me loving things he loves. When he sees me trying to read and see me have coffee, there’s a spark in his eyes because he knows that’s my way to tell him that I love him and even if I have to change for him, I will.

I think that what love is. Willing to change for someone, willing to like what they like even if you hated it before them, daring to explore things, because love is not always a fairy tale, it is sometimes a struggle too.

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