Today, as I drifted through a random playlist, Jason Mraz’s “I Won’t Give Up” began to play—an unexpected melody slicing through the monotony of my mundane tasks. Suddenly, tears welled up, blurring my vision. In that moment, I recognized what I had truly lost: my faith in the raw, unfiltered beauty of love.
Love was meant to be a wildfire—consuming, soul-dissolving, reckless. But somewhere along the way, I realized that few still believed in its sacredness. That realization shattered the illusion for me. Maybe I was naive, or perhaps delusional. Yet, the hope—that someday I’d be loved without conditions—had filled me with a quiet joy.
Then the Universe, in its cruel wisdom, decided to prove me wrong.
And here I stand now, burdened by the weight of change. The rest of my life seems destined to be a steady march—logical, methodical, disciplined, cautious. But I was never meant to be anything less than chaotic, wild, and intoxicated by love.
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