Me and my mother go out for coffee. We are sitting at the table when I ask her,
‘Do you think it’s possible to wake up one day and realize that you’ve stopped loving the person you spent the last two decades of your life with?’
She stops what she’s doing and she says, ‘It happens. Except it doesn’t happen the way you think it does.’
I take a sip from my coffee mug.
‘Then how does it happen?’
‘It happens slowly. Just like it takes time to learn love, it takes time to forget it.’
‘How do you forget what you never had?’ She’s looking at me wide eyed now.
I tell her, ‘If you wake up one day and realize that you have stopped loving, then you never really loved at all. Love doesn’t just become a past, and even for the many times it does, it is always a present too, you know? It’s the kind of thing you always carry around with you.’
I stop talking after that and my mother spills her coffee. Her hands are shaking and in her gaze, I know that she is trying to find the right words to tell me that love is fucked up like that sometimes. That I am right. That it stays, even when it can’t.
'Whoever it is that you love, is going to be lucky. You’re going to do it right darling, and every single time after the first is going to be better, because when everyone else forgets you’re going to remember.’
She reaches over the table and takes my hands, 'Love only hurts if you let it, so you might as well wear it like your favorite dress. It’s always going to look beautiful on you. Like maybe love was something made to fit girls with warrior hearts and bravery louder than their mothers, like yours- perfectly.’

> posted on August 2, 2015 at 20:36
> via: fruitcasso
> originally from: thewordsyouneverunderstood

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