And married people always think love is the answer.

"And married people always think love is the answer."

One is taught to hate those who destroy us. Those who hurt us, whether it be physically or emotionally, are undesirable and should be expelled from our lives. We shouldn't care about these undesirable people, these people who cause us pain. But we as human beings thrive on tragedy. It makes for easier conversation, tragedy does. It's why the news delivers report after report of car crashes. Arson. Shootings. Try as you might to deny this, but everyone adores pain. It's poetic.

We're told that love is what will save us. This feeling is supposed to be the single most desirable thing in exsistance. It's why there are couples in horror movies. Love will save us all. Irony, because this most desirable thing is entangled with what is said to be undesirable. Pain. Self destruction. Love. Saftey. It doesn't fit. But it's poetic.

I was taught these things. That love is the answer and those who destroy you are never worth your time. I was never taught what to do when your answer is the one that destroys you. I doubt anyone ever was, which is probably why humanity is such a beautifully complicated mess. 

He completely fucked up my life. And, based on what I was taught, I should hate him. I should let go, I should move on--for he is 'undesirable'. He is, however, all that I want. He's the only thing that makes sense to me half of the time, even when he is the one that's causing confusion. He tears me apart by doing absolutely nothing but he makes me happy just the same. He has the astounding ability to make my throat close up and my eyes water and just the same he can give me butterflies and make me smile. He completely destorys me and I wish I never met him. But he is what makes me happy, he is almost always my every thought, and I cannot possibly imagine my life without him.

I do not love him, I tell myself this daily. Whether it is the truth, I am no longer sure. But I repeat this mantra every time he disappoints me. Hurts me. Destroys me. I repeat this whenever he kisses me. Holds me. Makes me happy. I do not love him.

It's tragic. It's almost poetry.