Descriptive Essay: Love vs. Hate

It hurts when you realize that the organ that keeps you alive can either hurt or kill you when you fall in love. Why do I keep the pain inside? Is it because of the lack of trust or because of the lies the other people might tell me? Or maybe it's because I'm scared they might have sex and produce children and name them tears and hate.

People always judge me on how I look other than how I act. In a way, it’s not what they say that makes me mad but it’s why they say it. As I get older I change. I’m only 15 years old and I’m getting judged badly. What about when I’m 25? I’m still going to be changing so does that mean I’m going to still get judged but worse?

People see me as a quiet, shy, mad girl who doesn’t talk about her feelings. But I’m more than that, I just don’t show it. But why should I? I don’t determine how I feel. The way I feel when I wake up and how my mornings turn out to be determine how I feel the rest of the day. To me that’s why I think the morning is important. It gives me time to determine whether it would be a good or bad day. Like when you wash up or take a bath before going somewhere. Do you really just wash up and get out or do you do other things while you’re in there? Most of the time I either sing or think a lot (my thought place). Having a nice, warm bubble bath can easily get you thinking and clear your mind.

The smell of apple cinnamon candles by the tub. Hot water and a naked body in the tub while a waterfall of tears is running down my face.

Love don't exist in the pool of me. But the pain from it is its number one visitor. As  the smiles that I call bodyguards of happiness try to keep the pain out, its too strong for the bodyguards who don't use weapons except the lies of a smile.

I imagine the bubbles in the water to be the people that hurt, lied, and disappointed me. As I think it over I wonder to myself, "Is there something wrong with me?" That question was answered by the silence in the bathroom. As I get out the tub, I wiped away the pain and the people. And finally the smile of lies appears on my face and I walk out the bathroom.

So I think to myself, "No one will ever know my pain until they tell me why they gave it to me."

From when I was born until now, I’ve felt different types of love. Real, fake, hard. Its all happened to me but I never let it get in the way of me loving someone else, no matter how painful it was to me. But as I got older, it was easier to keep my feelings inside me. Less tears, but now I have no emotions. But people can see how I feel by the way I look and dress. For example, if I’m wearing bright clothes and I’m laughing and smiling then that means I’m happy and I feel loved. But if I have all black on fake laughs and smiles on my face then I’m feeling pain and no love.

But for this one moment I’m not going to talk about pain and hurt. I’m going to talk about love. I’m not always sad. I have a heart and I have a few people in my life that actually show l***.

What is love? Is it something you suppose to touch, see, hear, smell, or feel? How do you know? Well no one does. But the times when I think I am l***d is when someone actually care about my feelings and show they care. I think someone is also showing l*** when they are not afraid of telling you the truth. No matter how bad and mean it is. But they also comfort you by embracing you whenever it seems like you need it, they give you good advice, and they make you feel happy whenever you’re around them. And I have people that can do that in my life. It’s very few of them but they are there.

Like I remember one day when when I think I felt l***d. We were at the park. The wind was heavy and the air smelled like fresh rain. Me and my crush, Allen was sitting on the cold, hard benches talking. As I looked at him I couldn't hear what he was saying. I know he was talking but I wasn't listening. Our eyes was stuck together like we had magnets in them. I remember this moment so well. His eyes were big and luminous. And as I my eyes strolled down I glanced at his full, lips that was moving but no sound came out.

As the sky became grey, it started to rain. It came down as fast as glass dropping to the floor and the broken pieces scatter everywhere. He began to hold me with his big, carmel hands that felt soft around my waist. The tightness of the way he held me made me feel like he was trying to protect me from the rain. Like the rain as acid and he didn't want not one drop of it on me but but he'll sacrifice his own body. The butterflies were everywhere.
But it’s hard for me to write love if I don’t know if I feel it. Will I ever feel the power of someone loving me? Or will I always live the life of disappointment, lies, and pain with the preview of the movie, Love?