The days in between

There are two important days in a person’s life: the day they were born and the day they find out why. I don’t think today was that day. In fact, I don’t think I’m anywhere close to finding my purpose, but I made strides and I am confident in them.

Today I was told that love does not exist.

Words folded over each other in my mind, sentences merged, mountains moved. I closed my eyes and opened my mouth, waiting for an eloquent rebuttal to pass my lips, but all I could muster was “you’re wrong”. It wasn’t enough for me, I was not done, so let me continue.

You’re wrong, I can see it pulsing through you like fear. I’m watching it cripple your words and leak through your eyes as salt water. I’m watching it twitch in your fists as you weep, proclaiming that no, love does not in fact exist.

You’re wrong. I can see it as we come together as a nation, fighting for women’s rights, yet again. I watched it form in unusual roles as my best friend nursed me back to health last week. I can see it in the way that you pour yourself into too many places at once, trying to please everyone, trying to love until you no longer can.

You’re wrong. Love exists. It bends and it breaks, but it mends and it evolves. Love appears in unlikely places and works in mysterious ways. It opens doors and it breaks walls. It’s patient but it isn’t forgetful.

Love must exist because I am proof of it. I love merging sentences and folding words together, I love it so much that I went to school for it. I am happy when I am not alone, so I moved to a city, where I am always surrounded by stories and people to tell theirs. I made my love story a reality, not with someone else, but with myself. I took my time, I found myself, and I fell in love with living, and I have to say there is no greater love than self-love.