Naive

I used to think that love was flowers and sunshine and split-cheek smiles all the way, with the occasional rainbow thrown in for good measure. I used to think that you'd know when you met the someone you were meant to be with, because your heart would stop and start again with a force that would bring you to your knees. I thought that you would feel complete and the other half of you that was torn away from you when you were born had finally found its way home, and you could properly breathe again.

I thought love would be making your life bigger because you've added someone else in it. That you would stay up late at night talking about life and the universe, like you best friend when you were young, but infinitely better. I thought being in love meant being happy whenever your other half was by your side, and missing them when they were gone, talking to them as often as you could simply because you missed the sound of their voice. I imagined that you would always feel safe and loved, and that you would never feel fear or hurt, because there was someone else to take life's bumps with you, and soften the blows. I used to think that love was about finally being able to let your guard down, to be able to be honest and open and have all the barriers which we always have with other people, the physical, the mental, the emotional, finally disappear. I thought it would involve perfect trust, total understanding, mutual respect, and always being able to laugh, no matter what.

It must be someone else's fairytale, not mine, or yours.