Sometimes, at 3 am, I can’t help but wonder how I can know what love is, what love means, what it means to love and be loved… because the first act of “love” that I ever knew was to be placed at the side of a road, outside tall black iron gates and brick walls, never (?) to see my family again.
How can I trust that people will say what they mean, that they will do what they say, that their definition of love is the same as mine? I wonder if we are calling different
things by the same name, if “love” suddenly means “dirt” and “lily” suddenly means “ocean” and oh yes, ocean, that’s what will separate us, because I never want to see you again… because I love you, don’t you get it?
How can I look people in the eye when I am used to seeing their backs? And yet, what choice do I have?
Read it and try not to weep.