How can you love and not give everything that you have?
I kissed a man whose mouth smelled of alcohol, despite it being my nonnegotiable. A man who once tried to remain noble in my eyes, even hiding parts of himself just to be worthy of the love I gave. But pain has its own way of unraveling people. And perhaps, because of the hurt I caused, he found himself tempted by the very things he once refused to become.
I held the same hands that once taught me gentleness, now trembling with distance I could not reach.
I found comfort in the arms that were slowly learning how to let me go.
I stayed loyal to a love that was already beginning to doubt me.
I chose honesty too late, after silence had already done its damage.
I became certain of my love at the very moment I gave him reasons to question it.
I tried to fix what I broke, only to realize some fractures deepen when touched.
I asked for understanding, while standing on a mistake that made it hard to give.
I loved him in ways that asked for nothing —
Yet I feared losing everything.
Now, I stand here, trying to prove who I am to a love that once held me gently, but now lies shattered in pieces.
They say one can die for love.
I believe that, too. But in this lifetime, I choose something far heavier — I choose to live for love. To carry the weight of my mistakes, to endure the quiet torment, to face you even when your back is turned, and your eyes refuse to meet mine. Because staying, in the face of everything broken, is far more difficult than walking away.
I embraced a man who showed me his truth. I stayed with him through his shortcomings, his imperfections, his mistakes. I believed that was what love was — a space where growth begins. Where intentions are laid bare, where trust is slowly built, and faith is nurtured in the in-between.
But love also remembers.
It remembers the fractures, the moments that cannot be undone. And still, love is a choice — a quiet, painful choice — to remain, even in the face of disgrace.
So I ask again:
How can you love… and not give everything that you have?
And if you do give everything —
what remains of you when love asks for more?
