“You are what you love, not who loves you.”

“You are what you love, not who loves you.”
Tell yourself this six times a day until you realise it’s utter bullshit. Its a facade, a mirage created for you. A collection of words by someone who hasn’t felt what you have felt. All these quotes about heartbreak, love and relationships are solely existent to feed your abjection, your sadness, your solitude and the paradox of voices in your head telling you that you’re beautiful, you’re trash, you’re intellectual, delinquent, important, insignificant, and everything you want to, and don’t want to hear.

Am I cynical or just a realist?

For far too long I’ve romanticised heartbreak.
I’d scroll through my Instagram at three in the morning, with poignant, tired eyes and a broken heart, not being able to sleep or breathe without thoughts of him clouding my mind. I told myself, this is love. I would read and read about soul mates, about love conquering all, about the universe bringing us together, and it would make me happy. This is love. It would numb my sadness, and I would smile for those 15 seconds. Like anaesthesia, compelling an atheist to pray to a higher power. This has to be love.
It would give me hope that tomorrow would be a better day. Maybe waking up wouldn’t be so hard, Maybe he’d think about how we’d complete 3 years this month, or about how i had gone off the trails, Maybe I’d catch his attention, or drunk dial him after two long island ice-teas and endless tequila shots, sobbing on the bathroom floor, hoping he’d be sympathetic. Maybe he’d think about who’s kissing me and feel like he lost the one thing he really cared about.
But the world doesn’t work like that. Deep down, everyone knows the truth, we’re all just too ignorant. We like to believe in what we want to believe. 
Deep down I know that every time his phone screen lit up with my name at 1 o’clock in the morning, he was sickened. 
I degraded in his eyes with every word I said. I was nothing but the girl he used to love. He said, time and again, that we were poles apart and he couldn’t have been more true. After all the heartache, tears and desperate attempts to make myself look weak to get some emotion out of him I realised that …this isn’t love. I was holding on to vague memories and empty promises that we made. I was holding on to what I read about: Soulmates, about love conquering all, about the universe bringing us together. I was holding on to false hope.

This isn’t love.

I’m not too clear about what love is anymore, but i know what it isn’t.
 Love isn’t fighting for attention, or feeling small and desperate for being vulnerable. Love isn’t what people make it out it be. It shouldn’t feel difficult and turn you into someone you don’t recognise. It shouldn’t break who you are. Love is simple. 

I let go of my expectations. I told myself that everything happens for a reason and made it my mantra. I learned to fall in love with the world, with rom-coms and  black coffee, with works of Salvador Dali, Gustav Klimt and their equals , with Gabrielle Bonheur Chanel and vintage lace night gowns, and alternative rock, jazz and ‘La vie en Rose’. I focused my love, not on something singular, but on all the little things that make me who I am.  I may not know too much, but I’ll say this, prioritise yourself and love yourself unconditionally and,

“You are what you love, Not who loves you”

Tell yourself this six times a day until you realise that it is the one and the only truth.


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