Ok, Love You Bye

When I write in my journal, I usually title the entry as a song title. It’s just been something I’ve always done, so I’m going to implement it in my blog. “Ok Love You Bye,” by Olivia Dean has been stuck in my head all week. Listening to love songs made me ask myself recently… have I ever truly experienced love? And why was the idea so addicting to me?

I don’t think I’ve truly ever been in love with someone. It used to bother me that I’ve never felt it. How could I crave something I know nothing about? Does loving someone feel different than loving a friend platonically, or a family member? It has to be similar, right? I mean, it shows up in every single thing I write. It doesn’t matter if I’m writing a poem or a short story, the main theme will always, always be love. And don't get me started on Rom-Coms, they are so addicting! I love the cliché chick-flick movies. I love romanticizing my life and acting as if I’m the main character because life is too short to not see the beauty in everything I do. Just my opinion.

I like how I’ve spent every day so far in my life because it has led me to this moment right here. I feel content with where I’m at in my life. It’s uncomfortable and weird and although I’m scared of what’s to come next, I’m starting to welcome in those moments. I might not know how loving someone else feels like, but I know how it feels to love myself and award myself some extra grace that the world doesn’t give. That’s beautiful in itself, right?

Today, I finished my green journal and started a new one. It’s always strange, and yet refreshing starting a new one. It’s like letting go of an era or something. This last one was so special to me, though. I probably grew the most this past year. I learned to love myself in every messy stage I’ve been in this past year. As I’m writing, I’m realizing that maybe loving myself has been enough this entire time. Maybe I don’t need to know, maybe they could never truly love me the way I needed to be loved anyway.

I have to keep reminding myself that I’m only 23, but it pains me to think about all the time I’ve wasted with people who weren’t sure of me. Every time something ends, I’m reminded that I think of the world and love differently than others. Sure, being with someone that it just makes sense to be with is okay for some, but that’s not what I want for me. I don’t think people realize how emotionally unavailable they are sometimes, and I crave a connection. That’s the part of a relationship I want, and I can’t imagine one without it when I show up for myself every single day.

Like the hopeless romantic I am, I picture the moment I’d know when I was in love with a guy. Would my foot go up when we shared a kiss like in The Princess Diaries? Or would “Kiss Me,” by Sixpence None The Richer play in my head when I saw them? Only time will tell, I suppose.