In the end we have to stand up!

I have had many relationships. But I have rarely loved. To be honest, I have just recently come to know what love is. My knowledge of love is so new that I have only been able to share it with myself.

I still hear the voices of my friends

“You always rush into relationships, maybe you need distance”.

I’m not a fan of unsolicited advice. What else was I supposed to do if not rush into relationships. After all, it’s called FALLING in love. I was unaware of any other concept than falling in love.

Love I thought happens suddenly.

Like fireworks. Explosive. Everything is colorful for a moment, only to leave dust in the sky. But that little moment of fireworks was worth it to me to actually always throw myself into relationships. And it was worth it to me to fall.

For a long time, I hadn’t minded all the little wounds.

My friends were right. I fell and fell and fell. I called it love and when I didn’t call it love, I called it trying to love.

For me there was always a reason to try. Mostly I found the reasons in my partners. In how they might feel, in how they see me and in what they can do for me.

I could have gone on like this forever. Falling down. Get up. Falling down. Stand up.

The problem is the same as the one with fireworks on New Year’s Eve.

We see two, three maybe four beautiful explosions before we shrug our shoulders and return to our living rooms.

I’ve often thought about what a shame it is that I’ve been so jaded about love. Sparks just don’t last.

Love, however, asks above all to grow and growth does not happen with a spark. Not even with a spark of passion.

A few months ago I fell again and this time it hurt so much that I didn’t know if I could get up again.

Maybe love wouldn’t be for everyone.

Maybe it would only be for people who know themselves. Like themselves. For people who don’t fear loneliness. For people with patience.

Knowing that I hardly know myself, I would have loved to lie there.

But damn, what would we humans be without love.

I got up and made one last attempt. What is it actually like to love myself?

I always knew what I needed and wanted to take, but had no clue what I was bringing to the table. I spent months trying to love myself.

But damn, loving myself is hard.

I had no idea what I was asking for. Neither from myself, nor from others.

I was subject to the idea that love is just something you fall into.

I associated love with violent influences that push, kick or pull us. All those forces that make us fall.

It was only in the last few months that I learned that love is something we rise into.

Love is gentle.

It is patient and allows us to become who we want to be and frankly should be.

Yesterday I had a conversation with a person I first met two years ago.

A person with whom I have fallen. More than just once.

A person I wanted to love before I knew how hard it was to love me back.

It was the first time standing in front of him and asking me what I can give instead of asking me how he can love me.

I felt my heart growing a little bigger.

It is no longer someone else’s job to love me. I have taught myself since I dared to stand up one last time.

I know what love is.

And I can’t wait to rise