Love is a funny thing.    You expect it to be easy. You expect it to be a world of roses and laughs and perfect moments that you find only    in movies.       You expect her to    always say the right thing, and    always know exactly how you feel,    or exactly how to react to it.    You expect her to calm you down when you're yelling or to chase you    when you run away.      You expect so much that you feel entirely, and utterly defeated when something doesn't exactly match up to all your plans. But that's the thing.       Love isn't a plan. It doesn't have    a certain beginning and it    certainly has no end, or a visible    finish line to those deeply in it.      Love happens; it is so    incredibly messy. People around    you can't comprehend why you do    the things you do, or why you    fight so hard for something that    seems to cause you so much pain.      Because simply, they can't see.    They can't see the invisible ring    of insanity that surrounds you    when you're in love. It's    inconvenient and painful and    devastating at times, but we can't    live without it.       What you don't learn is how hard love is. How much work it takes. How much of ourselves we have to put into it.    How it isn't worth it until we are    complete and utter idiots about it.      Love isn't her calming you    down when you yell. It's her    yelling, just as loud, just as    hard, right back at you, right in    your face to wake you up and to    keep you grounded.      It isn't her or him bringing you roses    everyday or cute things that make    your relationship appear more    presentable. It's right after a long    fight, that drains the life and    bones right out of both of you, and    yet her or him showing up at your door the next morning anyway.      It's not her saying all the right things or knowing exactly how to handle you. So no, it's not her caressing your    hair and telling you everything is    going to be okay. It's her    standing there, admitting she's    just as scared as you are.      You have to remember that with love, you're not the only one involved.    You've unknowingly put your life,    your heart into the palm of    another's hands and saying,    here. Do what you will. Mash it    into a million pieces, mash it into meat. Or forget I ever handed it to you in the first place. Just as long as you    have it.       It makes reality invisible and it    erases all the lines that we    shouldn't cross. Because love    isn't about fencing ourselves in;    feeling safe, feeling sure about    the future.      It's about scaring the shit out of every nerve in our body, but pushing forward anyway.      Because all the fighting and all    the tears and all the uncertainty    is worth it. And it's a hell of a    lot better, than being 100% happy    without someone to show us that    there is a world of a difference    between feeling 'happy' and    feeling whole.