I have always been the girl who will get caught in daydreams about fairytale endings and a gown of lace with buttons down the back. I’ve always wanted a loving family of a husband, two or three kids, and health. That little naive part of me still exists, somewhere underneath all of this experienced, sensible teen. The one thing that has faded though, is my faith in love.
I wholeheartedly believe in family love. You love your mother and you love your father (if of course they raised you kindly as mine has, but I know not every parent is that way). You love your brothers and sisters. You love your aunts and uncles and cousins and grandparents. They are yours. You love them with such passion that “love” is a pitiful term compared to what you feel.
My belief in friendship love has remained constant, if not stronger. You adore your friends with every last piece of you. They mean everything and beyond; they are practically of your blood.
What I am not so sure about, is love love. Like, the kind they talk about in the fairytales and movies and novels and everywhere. I am not so sure it exists, anymore. Maybe it’s just an illusion, something for our simple minds to hold onto as we want somebody to love us as much as we love them, enough to be with us for the rest of our hearts pulse. Maybe its simply lust, which in my opinion is not love; its simply lust. They only thing convincing me otherwise is the deep, deep love my parents had for each other. That is what I want, if love does truly exist.
I don’t know, maybe I am just a simple teenage girl wanting answers I won’t get, but this is something I’ve thought about for a long, long time. I will continue to believe what I believe until somebody comes into my life and proves me differently.