I want love without obligation.
I want love with truth built in, the kind that you can look at a person and honestly love them with all your ability.
I need that. I want to know that there is someone who doesn't love me because of my name, or because I benefit them, or whatever.
That empty love cuts far deeper than any insult.


Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It is not rude, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres...

I remember the days when the breeze rattled us and the sun shone down, we held on through everything. The days of beauty, with the world below us as we floated together, so far above it all.
But the sun hid away, and the breeze turned into a whirlwind.
And we fell.
We fell like the leaves in the fall after summer, then disintegrated into dust under winter's cold fingers.

Now I'm coming apart at the seams, My every insecurity showing, like the rips and tears of a favorite shirt destroyed by years of wear.
I feel as though my tattered threads and frail stitches are going to be the death of me, and I fear the ending.
I've come to the end of me, and now I can't see anything.
I'm missing you more than I can express, the part of me that is so far away.
I need to be sewn back together.
You'll be the thread to patch me back together.