Love, I thought to myself bitterly. As if such a thing was so easy to comprehend, especially for such mere humans. As if life were quite so simple. If love were so easy, she’d already love me. She would. My heart clenched in anguish at the thought.

I’ve heard so many things about love. They say it’s better to have loved and lost than to have never loved at all. Or some who have actually experienced love know that love is horrible. It stabs and thrusts its twisted knife high in the heart before carefully yanking out the rest of the intestines with it. There are so many ways to respond to all of these people that I never can seem to decide which is best. How about love sucks?

Love only hurts when its over. That’s the only time that love “sucks.” When the one you love has finally left you and all that’s remaining are the fractured pieces on the floor. The hurt then is an undiluted agony of permanently opened wounds that no one would ever want to endure a second time. In that terrifying moment of infinite torment, there is simply no way that it could have been better to have loved and lost. How in seven lifetimes of fiery destruction could it ever be considered better to have loved and lost? To suffer the one true knowledge that as a lover, a friend, a companion, I couldn’t measure up for the one person it meant everything to? Neither of the inane adages makes any sense. And it’s so easy to understand why.

When people are asked to define something as complex as love, they struggle and grope for the right words. And the only thing they can find that even begins to explain it are experiences. Love is the feeling two people share, when one person means so much to another that all else is driven into insignificance. A pretty sentiment, but it’s not a definition. It’s an example of one facet of love. Emphasis on example. Because the truth is, it’s indefinable. Love exists. We, as humans, try to compartmentalize and understand it in words and categories. We need to understand it to feel it. Such is human nature.

But when I feel love, when I see it, when I know it, I know that sort of explanation is not good enough. It’s the wrong direction. Love is simply not understandable in words. It is felt and as such, can only truly be known by the veracity of the emotion. That’s why experiences are the first resort. When struggling to explain of this nature, something comprehensive on a strictly emotional level, the only way we imagine others will connect with our mental image is if we put them in our emotional situation. Which is the largest problem.

There are so many people out there who simply understand nothing. Oh yes, they think they know what they’re feeling. They believe in love. But it’s ever so easy to simply fall into the helplessness of self-delusion. Believing in love doesn’t make it real. And simply thinking you’re in love doesn’t mean you are. You may know how you feel, but do you know how to name it? Do you know how to recognize it? Interpret it? Or do you jump to the first conclusion, diving straight in, only to crack your skull on the bottom of the shallow end of the pool. Love simply isn’t that simple.

I’ve felt love. I can stand here, and say this to you, and you can wonder, how do I trust that when he just told me how little people truly know what they’re feeling? Knowing what I know, it’s so easy to doubt. It’s safer and probably more accurate to be a skeptic. After all, how do you tell the true lovers from the deluded ones? And the sad thing is, there is no way. It’s a horrible trap. Unless you’ve felt love, it’s nearly impossible to recognize. But how do you know if it’s the truth or just another delusion?

When you really feel love though, it’s mind-boggling. It takes over your mind. Take me for example. I love her. I know it. I can hardly think of anything or anyone else. I see her walking by, watch the wind toy with her hair, and I want to do the same. I want to be able to walk beside her, take her hand, and ask her why she’s not smiling. I want her to lean on my shoulder, answer me, and look up into my eyes as if I could solve any problem. And then, I want to solve it. I want to rescue her from whatever she’s drowning in that she won’t share with me.

I both love and hate the way she looks at me. The way her eyes crinkle and fill with emotion so quickly, I feel punched in the stomach with the strength of it. Her mouth turns up slightly on one side, a half-smile because she’s happy to see me but she doesn’t want to show me, doesn’t want me to know. Then the sadness reaches her eyes and I can see the lingering tears. When I stare into those almost watery eyes, I want nothing more than to stare into them forever, with her staring back at me.

Whenever I’m not with her, I want to be. I want to watch over her, care for her, protect her from the demons shadowing her footsteps. But she won’t let me. When I’m alone, or simply not by her side, I feel this ache, a physical wound, bearing me down. It hurts to be separated. And then, I see her again and I stand up just a little taller. She doesn’t speak to me. She sees me, her eyes immediately latching onto my familiar figure, a reassurance, and then she turns away, pretending I don’t exist.

Part of me doesn’t understand. I don’t understand this obsession I have for her. I love her, I do. I don’t know why though, not really. I mean, I love everything about her, but why do I? There is no sense, no logic; after all, I don’t really know her. Do I? I know nothing of her past, her demons, her family. I can’t always read her mood, but I can always read the look in her eyes.

Can I really love someone if I don’t even understand who she is? Can I be in love if the other half of my heart doesn’t belong to me?

Because she doesn’t love me. I’m a steady rock to see from across the room. But she won’t speak to me. She won’t approach me. Once, she took an involuntary step in my direction and looked shocked at her own audacity. How can she just take half my heart and not give it back? I can’t be whole without her, and I barely know what her voice sounds like.

I told you before that love only hurts when the one you love doesn’t love you. That’s the truth. There’s nothing in the world more agonizing, physical or otherwise. You can live through pain, but heartache never disappears. Is it better to have loved and lost? I can’t say that it is. I would never wish this pain, both emotional and physical, on a single human being. Only a true sadist would want someone to suffer this way.

I will say this, however. Once I found her, once I found this feeling, I knew I would never give it up. Not for anything would I trade this horrible lancing in my soul. If I can, I would choose to suffer forever in this torment, just to see her face in my dreams. I can’t answer questions on the true nature of love. Do you know why? It is because love is so intensely personal, so beautifully, divinely, serenely all-encompassing that there are no words to describe it or ways to share it. I wouldn’t trade pain for happiness. I won’t give up love.

Because, most of all, love gives us hope. It gives us the hope that one day, that one person who matters most will notice us. Just seeing her, I have hope that the demons will be pushed into the past. I have hope that one day, I will sweep her off her feet.

Love may be my misery, but it is also my only joy.