love

Love is a funny thing. You expect it to be easy. You expect it to be a world of roses and laughs and perfect moments that you find only in movies. You expect her to always say the right thing, and always know exactly how you feel, or exactly how to react to it. You expect her to calm you down when you're yelling or to chase you when you run away. You expect so much that you feel entirely, and utterly defeated when something doesn't exactly match up with all your plans. But that's the thing. Love isn't a plan. It doesn't have a certain beginning and it certainly has no end or visible finish line to those deeply in it. Love happens; it is so incredibly messy. People around you can't comprehend why you do the things you do, or why you fight so hard for something that seems to cause you so much pain, because simply, they can't see. They can't see the invisible ring of insanity that surrounds you when you're in love. It's inconvenient and painful and devastating at times, but we can't live without it. What you don't learn is how hard love is. How much work it takes. How much of ourselves we have to put into it. How it isn't worth it until we are complete and utter idiots about it.