I moved on a little more today than I did yesterday, just a little, but enough to count. And maybe tomorrow, I'll move on even more. Not all at once, not in some grand, triumphant moment, but in quiet, almost imperceptible steps. I don't need love to weigh me down anymore. Not today. Not right now.
So, I'm taking a break, not from people, not from life, but from love and all the heavy things that come with it. Because, honestly, love is exhausting. It's the kind of weight you don't even realize is suffocating you until you finally set it down. And when you do, you wonder why you ever thought carrying it was worth it.
People say love should be easy, but they lie. They always lie. Love is anything but easy. It's compromise wrapped in expectation. It's patience disguised as endurance. It's honesty that sometimes feels like swallowing glass, and kindness that too often goes unnoticed. Love is remembering the little things, how they take their coffee, the stories they've told you a hundred times, the way they hate the sound of ticking clocks. It's making room for someone else's world inside your own and never questioning if they'll do the same.
And all of that is expected. Natural. Normal. As if it isn't exhausting. As if it isn't something that drains you dry.
But I'm not a child anymore. If I were, maybe I'd still believe in fairytales, the kind where love is just a feeling, not a responsibility. Maybe I'd still believe that if you love someone enough,
Then it's enough. But I know better now. Love is heavy. And right now, I'm too tired to carry it.
So, for once, I choose myself. I choose quiet. I choose to rest. And if love ever finds me again, it'll have to meet me where I am, not drag me to where it thinks I should be.