In a lot of ways, I still love like a naive teen: boldly, brashly, without the thought of consequences. I think a lot of us still do, as much as we want to deny it inside, as much as we try to be strong and cold to the ones who have hurt us or have even the slightest potential of hurting us. That’s what makes us so fragile to begin with. Because even if we know better, it isn’t what you feel in your heart, it doesn’t have the power to rule over it, and a lot of us end up broken that way.
Regardless of how much we hold back, the idea of giving in somehow has a way of still seeping through. Because loving like a teenager is the only way we knew how to love, that’s the only way we learned how and how real it was, by walking into it blindly with arms wide open, willing to share and give everything in the slightest hope that it would be returned, and holding on even if it wasn’t, because sometimes in love, it doesn’t take too much to make us that happy, especially when it came to the one we longed for.
And in a lot of ways, it’s foolish, but I know I’d rather be a fool just to feel that way again. And for all that it’s worth, I think a lot of us would prefer that too.