Healthy Relationships

Love is blind.

Love is blind, to anything.

Love is blind, to anything, and everything.

Love is blind, to the good and the bad, the scary and the comfortable,

magnificence and destruction, our rise and fall.

Love is blind to me, because the angel, standing tall and strong and lovely, is

now deflated. It is sad, it is devastating. It is ugly, it hurts, it suffocates, it wraps its hands

around my neck and throws me through the ground, beyond the point of pain and into

the realm of complete disaster. It rips into the frail skin on my chest and devours any

exposed emotion or feeling. It dissolves my insides, it breaks my bones, but I love it.

I love it? And I love you, because love is blind. And you are an angel.

Love is me. Love is uncomfortable.

I hate it and I hate you, but the angel's chains are fasted around my wrists, bleeding

and scratched. I am free to escape, free to be happy, free to love.

But I am frozen in bliss. I cannot move. The others, they tell me that I should be

happy; look at what I have! You are a beautiful angel. Why am I not happy?

Why is the angel inside of me and outside of me and surrounding me and suffocating

me, telling me to stay? You're screaming at me and loving me and devouring me and

it feels so good but my lungs are drowning in my own tears. They're happy tears, right?

I am happy, because love is blind.

Love is blind.

Love is happy.

Love is I.

Tell me you love me. And I will stay. Please.