It was around 2:30am on Sunday at my friend's place and after a night of stars, full moon, and an unfinished session of 'Session 9', I was ready to turn in for the night. Shifting and turning on the mattress laid on the floor, I had already shut my eyes when my friend asked from her bed: "Why does love has to be so hard?"
"Oh no," I thought to myself. Nothing to do with her, but I know once I get going, I won't stop for a while.
I shifted up on my elbows, straining my neck towards her, eyes still shut. "Well," I began, knowing full well what I mean but wondering whether the following words would convery this, "it doesn't have to be. What it is depends on what you want it to be."
She grunted, then turned to me in the darkness. "But why does it have to be painful?"
I paused, not entirely disagreeing with her. "It doesn't have to be," I repeated slowly, buying myself time. "It can be painful, frustrating, annoying. But it can also be wonderful."
She grunted, not saying anything. I imagine her to be staring at the ceiling, mentally tossing over what I said.
"It can be wonderful," I continued, "simply because of the fact that we are in love. Why does it hurt? Because deep down, we feel enough for someone to cherish them, to care for them more than others, to want to be with them. It hurts because we are not able to be with them, to care for them, to cherish them. But the feeling that we get when we are with them, talking to them, laughing with them, that makes all the pain and frustration worthwhile. Because not everyone get to feel that, and we should count ourselves lucky to feel those things."
She stirred. The rustle of her duvet tells me that she turned to the other side. The following silence blankets the air, before I settled down and pulled my sheet over my head, wondering whether I myself believed what I had just said.
It was 3:42am the last time I checked my watch.