A hard kind of love.
I always thought I would have a hard love.
The kind of love fought over midnights and cell phones.
Through Facetime and waiting.
Planning weekends. Scheduling dinners.
The kind of love you talked about with hopeful lilts.
I always thought I would have the kind of love you spoke about in pauses.
With different experiences.
The kind of love where it burned in person, singed off your fingerprints.
Left bruises in its wake.
The kind of love that made you ache and yearn.
Counting down the minutes till you saw them again.
Even if it was through a screen.
I always thought I would have the kind of love that was split between the moments of waiting and the moments where you lost yourself in one another.
But then someone ruined phone calls and text messages for me.
Blurred and crossed lines in person and made me lose the magic of that kind of love.
They made me yearn for a different kind of love.
A face-to-face kind of love.
Where I saw everything.
Where there would be no mystery.
No distance.
No separation.
No pain.
They taught me that lies were always done easily over the phone.
It was easy to conceal people and stories over distance.
Lie through pretty words and made-up feelings.
Touch places that were never yours to touch.
But the little romantic in me still wants that kind of love.
She wants the touches at midnight.
In parking lots. Covering the distance between my hand and yours.
She wants the warrior kind of love.
The ceremony of coming home to someone.
Leaping into arms and quiet times in the bathroom.
Learning how to breathe with one another again.
Finding new rhythms and matching up the old ones.
The hard kind of love.
The worth it, kind of love.
