Mold

People are infatuated with the idea of being in love. Searching for something they aren't truly ready to find. 'Just a person, one person who understands me for me. A person who wont try to change the life inside of me.' I don't need the emotion of love to make me complete. As long as i'm alive, well and happy that's all I need. Love brings heartache, we want it to be perfect. It never is, it can never be. We force and push and pull for something that isn't meant to be. In the end we are left with pain, heartache and grief. Love is a free form, meant to be appreciated and nurtured. Yet we capture and confine it to fit our mold. A perfect mold in our minds. Love becomes cramped, stressed and sick. We hold on never wanting to let go. Love breaks free and escapes its prison. We are left now with a heartbroken vision. Years pass, tears fall. Our perfect vision is no longer We grow bitter thinking we’re growing stronger. Love gives us another chance Hesitantly welcome it. The cycle begins again We grab it and begin to mold. When will we learn, when will it get old?