If love is more important than money, why do we invest so much time in becoming financially successful and not in love? Why do we go to our jobs without questioning the hours or the minutes?
If love is what we were created to need, why is it so neglected by our actions?
If love is what hurt you deeply, why do you do the same to me?
I try to ignore the pain by numbing myself with indifference and I bleed whenever I turn away but I must. I cannot keep feeling in a world that has become so cold, heartless.
If love is so damn important, why can’t we just easily find it? Why is it easier for some more than others? I’m OK; we always find a way to be. But if love is as precious as it feels, why was it made to be this painful?
If true love takes time, why does it take no time to fall into it and an eternity to fall out of it? Its lack of sense drives me insane.
If I deserve love, why did I fall in love with someone who’s reckless with hearts? Dragging them around, completely oblivious to the fact that they are made out of glass and must be treated with care.
If love takes up so much of my thoughts, why can’t I make a living off of it? Might as well make some money at least.
If love is felt more strongly by the cursed and the blessed, why must we all co-exist in the same playground, trying to play nice? Kids are mean, especially boys. They will never know what it feels like for a girl.
If love crawls into my brain every chance it gets, how can I possibly be Zen and let go?
If love seems so hopeless, why can’t I ever lose hope? Holding on to it as if my life depended on it. If you don’t love me, how could I possibly love you so blindly?
If love is beautiful, why do I have to remind myself constantly how these moments are somehow worth living without you?
If love is red, why is everything so blue? Wherever I turn…
If love is this, then I understand why the artists never get tired of writing about it, trying to make some sense of it all by going over it once and again.
If love is all we need, why do I crave for so much more?
If love is what it is, why, oh why do I constantly need to understand it so desperately? If this is my heart’s desire, why can’t I hold the gold dust in my hands as I write this?
If only I knew, if only.