Thought Catalog

What Love Isn’t

Thought Catalog

Playing with fire to fill the emptiness for a little while doesn’t feel good anymore. You’ve hit a wall because you should know better. You do know better.

Love is not inebriated embraces and sloppy French kisses.

Love is not in substance induced words of affection.

Love is not a call past midnight with an invitation to take each other’s clothes off.

Love is not about knowing where his body parts are, but not where his heart or mind is currently at.

Love is not forced connections and faked orgasms.

Love is not an 8-hour sleepover and a “See you around” the following morning.

Love is not pretending you are ok with this arrangement.

Love is not the uncertainty of whether a text message will go unanswered.

Love is not deciphering what he really means.

Love is not in empty conversations in hopes to find something in common.

Love is…

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Thought Catalog

The First Time You Fall Out Of Love

Thought Catalog

You’ll wonder what is happening. You will look at the person you’ve looked at every day for the past few years and suddenly feel like all of their facial features are just slightly off. Their nose is too big, their eyes are too far apart, their lips are too thin — something is wrong with them, but every time you go to point it out to yourself so you can pin down exactly what you don’t like, it changes. Their face shifts ever so slightly, and everything is back to normal, and you can’t tell if you just imagined everything.

There is so much in love that is about familiarity, that is about knowing what you’re getting and wanting to come back because it’s better than the promise of anything new. Their whole being starts to change because everything inside of it has, everything between you has, and now the…

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Thought Catalog

The Song I Sing

Thought Catalog

Everyday to pass the time, I sing this song. And now as I compose it, the notes arrange like this.

From the start we fall, but know better than to spoil it, taking care not to cover up the path we’ve stumbled upon. We forget to tell the stories we usually tell, of old hurts no one could hope to mend. Simply we enjoy new company as we play sports in the park. We find a bench by the lake and drink from a flask one of us brought. We take a walk, and the sun sets.

Though we do not fall into bed. Instead we later agree it was fortuitous, and less ominous than our old dates, to have kept our hands almost to ourselves. We have nervous moments of waiting instead. But even in waiting, in the exposed spaces where spears used to run us through, we are…

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