You're Difficult to Love

You’re difficult to love. 

Like the vast temptation of the ocean, I jump in, the saltwater stings my eyes, it's sour in my mouth, creates red patches on my skin. 

 

It’s beautiful, mysterious, powerful, mesmerizing. 

 

It’s volatile, harsh, unforgiving, treacherous. 

 

You’re difficult to love. 

 

You push and pull, in one instant calm, the next, a roaring wave shatters against the shore, sometimes knocking me off balance, or wearing me down, day after day, until I feel flat like a smooth stone, with no edges of personality left. 

 

You’re difficult to love. 

 

Hard to walk away from, always looking back, drawn in by the magnitude, where the water glimmers with the hope of a new adventure, and the promise to wash away the past. 

 

You’re difficult to love. 

 

Yet I jump in, letting go, sinking deep inside the hurt and wounds, because nothing can compare to you, and your presence, and your beauty, and your magic. 

 

You swallow me whole, without thinking, without caring, of how I might drown in your greatness.