A question I ask myself every day and believe I would continue to for the rest of the days I have numbered on Earth is this: How can I fall out of love with you?
There are innumerable words, reasons, and lists that I can create in my frisky yet calculated head about our weaknesses, our limitations, our fears, and trepidations of our future together. Some thoughts running through my head, with the rising of the sun and its gravitational setting—if we can make it through this without bruising each other to the point of no return. I catch my heartbeat thumping in a frequency it hasn’t heard before because of how valuable you have become to this heart of mine. There seem to be so many reasons valid enough to push me to stop myself from falling deeper in love with you.
Have I told you that even my fears have now led me to love you with a fire that I would gladly be consumed in? Have I described the security and warmth I feel while I am engulfed in your embrace? Have I narrated the countless times I catch myself in tears when I look into your eyes filled with grace and forgiveness? Have I told you that distance has only created a vast room for me to love you, even in the uncertainty? Have I reminded you that every conflict we face has only made me want to grow stronger with you? Have I bawled my eyes out to you saying that your hand is now entwined in mine and there’s nothing that can separate it—pride, misapprehension, space, or time?
Falling out of love with you seems quite hard a choice for me to make. Oh, the angst it would be to rend my heart open and violently pick out the pieces of intimacy you have so carefully planted. The plight I would take to inhale and exhale every breath with your tender kisses not being a part of my daily ritual. If a love that can be fallen out of is seemingly ethereal, I would rather choose a lifelong journey of mundane romance with you—cooking, laundry, dishes, finances, and everything alike. I would choose the serenity of your silence if it comes at the cost of our ego-fulfilling arguments. I would choose a dimension of comprehension that’s wrapped in joy over a minuscule attempt of being the fair right end of the bargain. I would prioritize the hard and dirty work of two becoming one over the false realities and standards of finding ‘the right one.’ Falling out of love with you would have to come with the cost of losing everything that I have now become—with you being my most prized possession.