Once upon a time there was a girl.
I know, I know, no one wants to hear another story about a girl. All the stories that could possibly be imagined, have been, until some psycho like Jodi arias comes along with an especially gruesome twist, but never the less, I’m a girl, and like all the other stupid bitches, Who go off doing their self-absorbed shit, I’m writing it.
This girl believed in love. This writer isn’t sure.
One day the girl received a letter saying her long lost love was returning. She excitedly got ready and started tidying her home. She wanted everything to be right, perfect.
When her love returned, at first things seemed well, but soon the arguments started. She knew she needed to do more, and be more of a good love, for the feeling of love to stay strong. She tried. She could be better. More thoughtful. Less moody. Happier. She tried. She worked. She learned.
The writer watched.
As the household got more under control, and as thing began to flow more smoothly. Life did become happier and still manageable. Love was kind of shelved during this time of transition, and when the time came to reexamine the feeling, it was still there, although through the process the girl had learned that love is not free.
Love is forged between endurance and sacrifice. It is bathed in pain and bears many battle scars. It is not a commitment to be made lightly, nor an adventure to go on with improper preparation. Love is synonymous with pain. Love should be revered, and love should be feared.
Wise women would keep that in mind.
This writer will.
goodnight , sleep tight.