I have convinced myself of many things

I am convinced that no one will ever love me in the way, with the strength and passion, that he did. I do not think any person on this earth or in the universe can give that love to someone else. I am convinced that it was the only love that ever existed, the only love that ever was or ever will be. I am convinced that an old, now deceased man with shaky hands whose only purpose was this one task, crafted this love out of the most beautiful wood there ever was, from the tallest, greenest tree that ever grew. I am convinced that this love was so real it could be touched, you could literally feel it in the room, anyone could feel it in the room. I am convinced that it was for me and only for me.

Let me tell you what it was like:

Well, I can't, actually, not with words that won't ruin it or with comparisons that don't do it justice. You can just feel it. You can feel it every single day. There is never a day that you wonder ‘Do I feel love today?’ because you can’t wonder that. You just know that it is there. You can just reach your hand out, open your sleepy eyes and there it is, this thing that was there while you slept. That thing you know will keep you warm when it’s cold and dry when it’s rainy. You know this because it comforted you when your cat died and it swelled with pride when you graduated college with honors and it whispered affirmations and aspirations and hopes and dreams in your ear every single day, whether you were happy or sad or tired or excited or mad. This love held your hand during the sad parts of the stories you read late at night because you couldn’t sleep. This love laughed with you that time you laughed so hard your stomach hurt. This love walked with you so you never felt alone and jumped with you the days you couldn’t keep your excited feet on the ground. This love was every sunset, every shooting star, every deep breath, every tear, every giggle, every grumble, and every stupid, toothy smile. This love was everything. It was a part of you- a limb, a vital organ. It was you.

Everyday you wish you could thank that love for being a part of you. You owe it every bit of gratitude you could absolutely muster. You owe love everything, because without it you realize you are nothing, you are a void, a blackhole. Without love in your life, without this love in your life, it is easy to feel as though you could never feel happiness again. And because of this, you must show this love every appreciation you have, you must tell it every single day that you welcome it, that you want it, that it is everything to you.

And you know that even on those days when you feel nothing but rage and anger and even when you feel like you just want it to go away, you yell at it, “Leave me alone, I don’t want you anymore, Love”. It doesn’t go away. It will stay there and hold you for years, if that’s what it takes, dammit, because it is not letting go no matter how hard your feet flail or how loudly you reject it.

I felt love. But I didn’t know that it was the deepest love in the whole world until it was gone and until I most certainly didn’t deserve it any longer.

It is gone and I am also convinced that not only will I never get that exact love back, but that I will never again feel that loved or that cared for or that precious by anyone ever again.

I ripped it to shreds and even as the last piece fell from my hands and hit the hard dirt, I still walked away and felt nothing as I did it. It's interesting because destroying something that is supposed to be so strong and indestructable with such ease is like seeing your mother crying or when that independent cynic admits she is lonely. You just never thought it would be possible, or that you would have that power. But I did, I had that ability to somehow punch a steel wall only to realize it was actually made of something fragile like butterfly wings or silk cloth. And only now am I realizing what I had and how I broke that. Because when you’re in it, you don’t see that. You can’t believe that it’s real or that it is what it is. It seems like a dream everyday.  You say things to reassure yourself that it isn’t that magnificent thing, it can’t be; nothing can be that great. But it is, it really is; something can actually be real while also being all of those amazing things at once.
But you can’t know that, no one can know that. I didn't know that. Because, of course while you’re in it, you can’t see the outside, you can’t see what it really is, what the love really is.

I had it; I had what every person dreams of. What all the songs are about. What every writer has felt, or wanted to feel and expressed over hundreds of years using eloquent words and beautiful, flowing metaphors. What every teenager hopes is out there and what they dream about at night and write about in their diaries. It’s what, as a child, you hope your mommy and daddy have for each other. And it’s what’s there when you see two old people kiss in the streets. It’s that deep, down-in-there feeling that can only be too good to be true. Only it isn’t. And I know that because I felt it. I am convinced I had that. And now I don’t.