If I’ve learned anything at all about love, it’s that it’s just like childbirth. There are thousands of books you can read that will tell you how to prepare yourself. Everyone has a story or twelve and an endless supply of advice. You can read every book. You can talk to anyone you want. You can hope and plan and prepare as much as you want, but when it hits, it’s never what you expected and there’s nothing you can do but go along for the ride.
Love has a mind of its own and does not give a fuck if it’s a good time or if you’re ready. You can’t pick when it happens, or with who. You can’t slow it down. You can’t make it stop. And you can’t make it hurt any less. Because that’s the thing about love that surprises you. Love hurts like hell.
The part that feels good? That’s infatuation, that’s the fantasy, that’s the part filled with rainbows and fireworks. When you hit love, it’s a different story. Love doesn’t pull punches. Sooner or later, love is going to fuck you up. You can’t even comprehend the pain by reading about it. There are no words to describe it.
Sure you will still have great days and there are wonderful aspects about love. No one needs preparation for the good stuff. We let it wash over us and it makes us lazy. What floors us are the bad days. Watching someone you love in pain with nothing you can do, facing your own flaws and inadequacies, realizing you don’t have any power over love, it has all the power over you.
Love is going to tear you apart but it probably won’t kill you even though you’ll have moments you wished it did. If you stick with it, and give in and give up your ego and your pride and your selfishness and do whatever it takes to embrace and nurture it, your love just might mature into something amazing someday. But if you don’t treat it right or give it enough of your time and effort, you’ll probably end up with a punk ass criminal in 15 years.