18 (written in 2012)

I am 18 and not in love yet, because being in love is a lot like a car crash, a train wreck, a labyrinth in which I do not find solace in being lost but instead feel trapped in a never ending maze of confusion and uncertainty, I’m not sure I believe in love, no, that’s not true, I believe in love, but I question its power, its legitimacy, and therefore leave no room for it to find me, perhaps I am marred by fear, perhaps my heart is marked by shame, by my inability to say what is true and instead mask it with elaborate lies and detailed excuses of why I shouldn’t do this, love makes me feel so powerless and vulnerable and I know that in these things lay love’s beauty but in all honesty I’m not ready yet because in order to love another, you have to love yourself, and I’m not there yet, not yet, not yet, not yet