But, I am Sixteen

My view on love, thats it!

Love. Love is a silly thing we all have thought of. I think of it quite a lot to be honest. I say “To be loved by a writer, poet or artist” all the time. Most of the time I'm joking or say it to express the fact I just want to be loved in general. I sometimes tell people I love them; I do but is it what I truly consider love? Or is it a tame version of the roaring and sickening hunger I crave? I want to be loved like the movies or to be loved the way the authors write soulmates and equals in a book. I just want anything, anything that makes up for the years of childhood love. For that love wasn't real, but a match waiting to be brought aflame when I grew up it would spark until eventually it would catch alight and fuel the passion inside.

A fire, a desire burns within me. I am aware of the sting, the very heat it scorches inside of me. I am not afraid to admit what I wish for. Love is found in all things, and I hope one day someone can pull out that ember within my heart and warm their hands upon my flame, my love. To be desired is to be considered complete. There is a hole inside of me, I ache when I begin to dream. I dream of growing old with someone, having a life. I fantasize about what I could be. What I could be to someone, anyone who fuels that passion and desire to be loved in me. Sometimes, I wish to carve it out. To place it on display for those to see, finally catch a glimpse of all that I could be. But I am sixteen. That is all I'll ever be. I may be a ‘daughter’, ‘sister’. ‘friend’ or a stranger. But I am sixteen, and that's something that is me. I am sixteen.

Love is dangerous, and obsession. Because once someone makes that ember start to relight, you will do whatever it takes to never let that flame die. To be in love is to be willing to give yourself up completely and irrationally over to them. And in the end, you are afraid to be utterly and downright alone. “To be loved is to be changed”, but was it for the better? Was the change you made for them the only way you could show your love? I can never go back to being the same, I've changed. 

   Love can be kind. The kindness you feel when you open your heart and let the fall breeze sink in. The love of old people who take walks in the park and share their remaining moments with each other, I wish to be kind. The kindness can choke and strangle you, never willing to let go until you beg for air. You grab and scratch at this kindness, hoping it will let you go. Bare your teeth and claws my friend, it's not weakness that you show, but kindness. And that is sickening. 

  My love, to whoever you may be. Did you know how long I've craved you? It's been sixteen long years; I haven't felt the warmth from that ember within my heart…Where have you gone? What have you taken from me, give it back. Who would change themself for someone, something like you. I did. I am sick. This desire is a disease, I want to get rid of it. To love is to be…Within me a pile of ash lays. I am burnt out and singed.