It is your pale face I envision whenever I close my eyelids to darkness.

It is your glistening brown eyes I imagine when I need to see clarity.

Why the fuck do I feel this way about you?

Why do I get this feeling that I can’t walk away?

Even if I stay up waiting for your text.

Your call.

Your snapchat.

For you to even say hello or ask me how I’m doing.

I’m always waiting, but I’m okay waiting for you.

My patience hasn’t been lost.

Because the feeling I get when you’re here, when you’re right next to me, wrapped up in my arms and your head resting on my chest, it makes the wait worth it.

You’re worth it, and so I wait.

It’s not as simple as one may think

But isn’t as tough as one may say.

Love is respect.

Helping your girl button her shirt in the morning instead of rushing to take it off.

Love is kind.

Holding your girl hours on end while she cries, being strong in her moments of weakness.

Love is vulnerable.

Falling so deep, understanding the consquences and acknowledging the fear of it all, but still falling together.

Love isn’t set in stone, yet it is a building block.

Built upon the foundation of trust and loyalty.

Built upon the care and vulnerability.

There isn’t a certain way how to love.

There are many ways to express love.

But, for the most of us, we learn to love.

Whether it be when we are young or grown.

Pure or not.

Healed or broken.

Perfect or scarred.

The most important part to love is yourself.

You will not be able to love another until you can learn your worth.

It took me years to learn that I am worth it, instead of "I'm not good enough."

It took me years to learn that I'm beautiful, instead of "She's prettier than me anyways."

I am worth it, and I am beautiful.

Love is not as simple as one may think.

Love isn't as tough as one may say.

I am still in the process of learning to love another, but I am excited for what will come my way.

My mirror is broken.

Cracked beyond repair.

My scars they are open.

My pain left to bare.

Through the shards I can see

A torn, broken me.

My mirror is broken.

What would it take to piece back the pieces?

What would it take to change the reflection I see?

But for now, my mirror will stay broken.

Because what is broken is me.