Love is patient, love is kind, love is selfless.
Or… at least it’s supposed to be. The problem with the equation is humans. The truth of the matter is simple, really. 17 year old me had it down to a T.
I want him to be happy.
But I want him to be happy with me.
The nature of being human is innately selfish. We don’t want what’s best for others, we want what’s best for our own hearts, and sometimes, that extends out to the wellbeing of others. That’s all. As morbidly depressing as that may seem, as disillusioned and jaded that may be. So often, we sacrifice ourselves to save our own hearts.
There is glory in a certain kind of death, but at the end of it all, it’s never the dead who suffer. It’s always the living that hurts.
Because there is a certain kind of pain in being left behind, one that’s beyond measure and beyond words, and so natural that we’ve attributed it to having a broken heart.
I want you to be happy, but I want you to be happy with me. And finally, that’s the whole truth I can give you. In all it’s broken hearted, ironic, self-indulgent humour.
Don’t forget me, I beg.
Be happy with me instead.