Love, in all of its possible incarnations, is never simple or easy. It’s also never stable.
As if alive, it changes, evolves, withers, and, because it was born, it can also die.
There is a propensity, at this day and age, to think there’s always another fish in the sea, another gazelle in the savanna, someone else out there, So why fight for got what you have now? It’s so much easier to pick another partner, to keep dancing…after all, there are 7 billion of us out there.
But that’s not exactly true, is it? No one will ever replace the one you left behind. You won’t ever go through the same experiences. Those moments you spent together are gone forever, left behind like discarded clothes.
So should you fight or let go?
I guess I don’t know. For me, I fight. I fight and struggle, bit and snarl, for every piece of love that wants to leave me behind. However, if one doen’s want, two don’t tango. And that love that existes between two people will become an old ratty cloth, full of holes, that it’s good for nothing but becoming a rag.
But that doesn’t discourage me, because at least I’ll have the memories to keep me hopeful. Hopeful that maybe the next one won’t be the same, but it will also be good. Like a new shirt, bright and making me feel happy.
But I never forget that rag, and how it was once a new shirt that made was just as bright and made me feel just as happy.