As long as I can remember, I have tried to compose love like a chemical formula with me as the main component: mixing different elements of a relationship, always using the wrong variables, never reaching that perfection I was searching for. I would like to think my experiments were commendable. I learned some importat things like: never try to be the girl “he changes for”, don’t date a man that acts more like a child than a child, and never believe a man when he tells you you’re beautiful, when he doesn’t make you feel that way.

I’m going to be honest, I’m not really a love poet, but I can tell you that trying to find love is like combining the wrong ingredients in a chemistry lab: explosive, and at the end of my experiments I was covered in soot and smoke and burns and scars. Because love can not be created in a laboratory. The aftermath of a failed atttempt always ends with one conclusive result: heartbreak.

Love is a natural thing.

It cannot be forced, or willed, or bought. Love occurs when a set of listening ears is accepting no matter what your secrets may be. Love occurs when you think his too-small-ears and the freckles that cover his face are the defining details that make him beautiful. Love occurs when he knows your favorite things even when you don’t tell him. Love is when two unique halves unite to become one single being. And all those scars left from my journey are now like shining trophies displaying my story of how I never stopped searching for him.


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