Love

Love could mean a lot of things to different people. It could mean security to some. Comfort to others.  Whenever I think of love I think of mother Theresa and how she said that love is of pain.

“I love you…” these words echoed in my head as the ringing continued. He did it again. I was half awake when his hand landed quite aggressively on my right ear. It echoed continuously as my ear began to ring from the hard smack I got so early in the morning. “I love you.”

A lot of people have told me I trust to easily. A kiss on the forehead, “stand against the wall,” he said. A hard hit on my stomach. He smiled. “I love you.”

A slap on my left cheek. Hard and crisp and unexpected. “I’m doing this because I love you.”

Something flew. I hide in my room. It hits me. Black, blue, purple, and green on my right leg. “ I love you.”

Love comes in different forms and sizes. I grew up with fairytales. And it was conflicting to grow up with such love existing and my kind of love existing in one universe. I realized that my love was real, and that it was pure. And that the pain was necessary to make me better. Make me strong. That was love for me.

And I was wrong. The bruises will fade. The scars healed. But the heaviness in my heart grows. Troubling. What is love? And where does it come from?

A crying woman, in pain, and dying. I was not moved. She whispered, “I’m sorry.” And the line went flat.

And I said, “I love you too.”

xxx, 

K <3

P.s

Take it as you read it.