What is love?
I am struggling to remember.
I have these diaries and journals where I speak frankly and painfully about this love I had and the pain, I remember feeling it like I should, I remember writing the entries conscious of how similar to the films it felt.
I can’t remember this love anymore and I read my diaries snorting with contempt for my innocence and naivety. Perhaps in reality it is my shame and lack of understanding which dismisses these experiences, perhaps its the unspoken knowledge that I am bitter and pragmatic and scornful of the idea of anyone ‘needing’ anyone. My inner monologue spitting the word’s ‘for fuck’s sake, get a grip, get real… man up’. Emotions are for weak people, needing someone makes you weak and vulnerable and susceptible to pain, to be taken for a fool…. although perhaps this is the lesson I learnt in my first loves, when both betrayed me. I was 15. I fought in the way the romances on the silver screen taught me I should, I used words and guilt and back stabbing. I used every tool I was afforded as a woman scorned. In the end I’m not sure what I won, the one that lost probably gained so much more for them-self, forced to redefine and find a new path. I fought to the bitter end and then felt the need to wear the prize I had won. To justify the losses. In the tears cried by sore red swollen eyes I couldn’t see what was really at stake, maybe I remember it wrong. Now I see I fought for the wrong love. Although I had no choice, it was that or nothing. It was a tragedy. One of us had to win and in that winning everyone was going to lose. If I could change anything, and I’m not sure it could’ve played any differently, but if I could I would change the prize, I would fight for what I see now was worth saving, I would say sorry. We would both know with hindsight that a teenage boy meant nothing, our friendship was far more valuable.
Perhaps love is pain in my body and mind. That makes me sound 17 again.