I miss the uncertainty, the wondering, the imagining of scenarios (best case and worst case, neither should be excluded), the butterflies, the shyness… I miss the days when I didn’t know exactly what I was looking for in the person I want to have next to me, when all I knew was that I liked a certain boy and that I went weak at the knees every time I saw him.
Those were the days when I didn’t really know what suffering from love meant. Now I know. I’ve been burnt. I’m not sure if I’m wiser (will I be able to put the lessons I’ve learnt into practice when the time comes?), but what I know for certain is the scars are a reminder that where there was great suffering, there also once was great love. When it comes to love, my scars show me that I’m capable of greater things than I ever imagined I would be. My scars are lessons learnt that I never thought I needed to learn. My scars are realizations of things I want but are not really good for me and of things I need but do not necessarily desire.
And yet, from time to time I miss the innocence of it all, when I didn’t know exactly who I was, but I was eager to discover myself and the world.