I used to believe in Love, then one day I refused to allow it the honor of placement in my mind. People around me would be searching for another person to fill a void that they thought only this strange concept of “Love” would fill. Then, one day, I met someone who changed my mind and I began to believe in that concept just as everyone else around me did. I felt it; I enjoyed its magic, I indulged in its warmth, I made myself comfortable in its presence. That was my tragic error, the single action that really led to my demise.. I was so comfortable with Love, I so deeply ingrained that word and the things that came with it into who I was, I told people that I was in love and I knew that my lips were speaking the truth of my heart.
Twice before had I felt that word creeping into my life, attempting to steal the ground from beneath my awkwardly positioned feet. Twice before I had become overwhelmingly frightened. The word would call upon its meaning to assassinate me, to come after me to poison my emotions. However, those other times the word lost track of me as I continued to hide from it, running so much faster than it could. You see, without my thoughts and emotions to feed on, the word had no power; it was slow, fragile, and weak.
This time it managed to hold my attention just long enough. I began to trust it, but that only helped it to grow. It became a bigger monster everyday, though I felt no harm- I thought Love wanted me to be happy. Love took me in, made me feel at ease then struck like a cobra, ripping away everything I thought I knew. It teased me once I was injured, it continued to stand above me as it laughed. With each tear I shed, it only became louder.
That’s why I no longer believe in Love, though everyone says it has some kind of healing powers. Just wait until Love trips them and steals away their joy, as it did to me. I wonder how many of them will still enjoy its company once they’re bleeding on the cold, hard ground.