Love is difficult to define, difficult to measure, and difficult to understand. Love is not having to pour 40% vodka into my body every other second or having to smoke a nicotine filled cigarette every other time, love is my parents, friends, myself, but lastly love is my addiction for him.
I cannot see anyone like I see him, I cannot think of a person like I think of him, and I cannot love someone like I love him.
What happened when he left?
Days got shorter, nights got longer, tears started wandering in all randomly. But eventually it got better. I stopped checking my phone every morning to check the “good morning texts” instead I started distracting myself to get my mind from him and started focusing more on myself and my surroundings. I started to find myself and who I want to be, I started living and not caring. I started painting and now that is the thing I cannot stop doing and I actually feel like painting saved me from getting lost with my mind. Because instead of hopeless thinking I painted them down. I also started focusing more on my parents and realized I have not appreciated them enough, because all the things they do for me is a perfect example of true love. And now thinking back I can feel that what me and him had was not true love, and that also sucks to think back to, because I also started thinking a lot about, when do you know what you feel for this person is real? Yes, he might have said he loved me and that I was perfect for him, but maybe I was just falling in love with the way he talked to me, about me and the attention he gave me? Because we can fall in love with attention and often that is what we do.
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