Love is loving me when I don’t even love me.

Love is reaching for me even when I push you away.

When I scream and throw things at you.

When I curl into a ball, in a corner.

My head so heavy, leaned against a wall.

Love is waiting for me. Arms stretched out ready to hold me when that wall gets too hard and cold.

But that wall is what I deserve. So your arms get sore.

Love is waiting for me to feel the bottom of my despair.

Love is letting me get there.

When I have surrendered to the dark, love is when you hope and don’t judge.

Love is giving me the freedom to be sad

to cry

to rage

to hate.

Love is loving me when I hurt you.