No one prepares you for the kind of love that wounds you.
We grow up on stories where love fixes everything.
Where the right person makes the pain stop.
Where love is a balm, not a blade.
But real love, the kind that reaches into your soul, isn't always gentle.
Sometimes, love arrives with warmth in its eyes but knives in its hands—not out of malice, but out of its sheer humanness. Because people are messy. And even the ones who love you can hurt you.
I used to think if someone loved me, they wouldn't cause me pain.
But I've learned that love and hurt can coexist.
Not because they should. But because we're flawed people trying to love each other the best we can—with our fears, our trauma, our pasts clinging to us like shadows.
I've been hurt by people who swore they'd never leave.
I've hurt people while trying to protect them.
And in both cases, love was present.
Still breathing. Still beating. Still trying to find a way.
There was a friend I loved like family.
She knew me like no one else did.
And one day, she simply stopped showing up.
No text. No call. Just distance.
At first, I told myself she was busy.
Then I told myself I must've done something wrong.
Then I stopped telling myself anything and just started grieving—quietly.
We had shared dreams, heartbreaks, weekends. Now she was just a name in my phone I couldn't bring myself to delete.
The thing is, she loved me. I know that.
She just didn't know how to stay.
And sometimes, love isn't enough to keep people from running from themselves.
That's when I realized something that reshaped everything:
Love doesn't always look like presence.
It doesn't always sound like I'm sorry.
It doesn't always feel like safety.
Sometimes, love is confusing.
It shows up in broken apologies, half-healed hearts, or moments you wish you could rewrite.
Sometimes, it's buried beneath pain that hasn't yet learned how to speak.
But here's what matters most:
Love isn't supposed to be perfect.
It's supposed to be honest.
It's not about never hurting each other.
It's about learning how to stay tender, even when we've been hurt.
It's about holding each other accountable without holding grudges.
And learning that kindness in love isn't weakness—it's power.
I used to chase the kind of love that never faltered, never failed.
But now, I crave the kind that's willing to admit when it's wrong.
That says, "I don't know how to love you right, but I want to learn."
So if you've been hurt by someone you love…
If the wound is still fresh…
If you're wondering how something that once felt like light could now feel like loss…
You're not alone.
This is part of the story.
And it doesn't mean love was a lie.
It just means love is complicated.
But it's still worth believing in.
Even when it's not kind.