Why does anyone love someone? Some things are just meant to be.

Being a nurse, I’m well trained in being careful with the language that I use. Words have power. They can keep someone calm. Or they can freak someone the fuck out when they’re in a bad place. They can keep someone at a distance. Or they can bring them close. It’s why I resisted when he suggested I call him by his first name. I was keeping him at a distance. But apparently my subconscious has been telling me this whole time that I shouldn’t do that.

I close my eyes and take a deep breath. Breathing in the pain, the heartbreak, my stubborn, willful insistence on closing him out because he hurt me. Then I breathe out with forgiveness, love, and acceptance that you can only be hurt so deeply by those you love. And that the real lesson here isn’t to never date a doctor; it’s to let love in, no matter how much it scares you that you could be hurt. Because it’s worth it.

But the missing piece, and what there is no accounting for, is love. The force I've resisted all these years due to its destructive nature, its ability to make even the smartest among us do some truly unwise things.

It’s always ‘until,’ my dear. Until you value yourself. Until you find someone who values you. Until you stop letting your past dictate your future.

When he's not with me I feel less than whole. But the volatility of our relationship makes me wonder how much of that is what I want him to be, as opposed to what he actually is. If the idea of him is more fulfilling than being with him.