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I don't know when exactly i formed the idea of love, and when it stopped making sense for me. When love was just a word, it had hope, a sense of escape, a space i could look forward to. The search for love meant that it somehow existed. The waiting eyes eyes at any event, the wandering head twisting and turning, hoping to catch a strangers gaze and somehow understand what love meant. It was so much nicer. The uncharted territory was pure and sacred. It wasn't veiled by disappointment and heartbreak.
But now that I had the courage to venture into it, nothing is as I thought it would be. It did not make me feel any of those feelings I thought I would, instead, it brought to me everything I would never wish to go through again. But maybe I knew this all along. I knew it was not going to be the wonderful fairy-tale world I had imagined it to be. It wasn't real. Real life is not magic, real love is not magical. I was perhaps set out to feel doomed, so I was always reluctant to take that step. I am still fumbling between taking the plunge entirely and saving whatever of my heart is left and just leaving.
I might not find the answers anytime soon, or at all. One thing is for sure, nothing in life is as good or bad was we imagine it to be.
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