There is no such thing as an unhappy love.
There is no such thing… Do not be afraid to fall
Into the epicenter of a super-powerful explosion,
Which they call “hopeless passion.”
If fire bursts into your soul,
Souls are cleansed in the flame.
And for this, with dry lips,
Whisper “Thank you!” to Spring.
(c) Yulia Drunina
Sometimes, I wonder if those who avoid unhappy love through calculation are somehow missing the point—just like those who fall in love with their eyes wide open, running a risk assessment before giving their heart. Over time, I’ve become one of them. I don’t fall in love if I have time to assess whether the other person will love me back. But sometimes, you don’t get that time. Sometimes, feelings arrive like a transparent tidal wave. One breath later, you surface—and you’re already a different person. Your consciousness has shifted. There’s a new kind of fire burning in your chest.
Sometimes, there’s just enough time to notice the wave approaching—to calculate when it will crash, how long you’ll drift underwater, what emotions will be waiting when you rise again. But even then, the space is already filled with a red intoxication. Your consciousness may try to act, but your being is already paralyzed. It’s like a dream where you try to run, but your legs won’t move. You drift in this sweet, thrilling syrup. It’s not yet love, but it’s already its beginning. It feels like a pure meeting of souls. The only thing that could interrupt it is your own collection of stereotypes and defenses—those mental slabs you’ve laid brick by brick to protect yourself. You remember them just in time. You grab the metaphorical tile in your backpack and leap out of the water. You watch the wave crash over the place where you were only moments before. You say, quietly, “Well, it didn’t happen. A shame, but what can you do…”
Is it wrong to protect your soul from pain? From being torn to pieces? From being scraped raw by reality’s sharp rake?
I don’t know. I do fear pain. I don’t want it. I honestly don’t think I could survive another unrequited love. But still—every time it comes, I open myself to it. Not with my mind, but with my heart. My heart wants to love.
My mind sometimes manages to shut the door in time. To shield me from danger. But by avoiding pain, I fall from the paradise of love into the wasteland of its absence. Yes, I may avoid heartbreak. But then I find myself in a different kind of torment—the kind that comes from missing love altogether. Like living without light. Without joy. Without forward motion. Without wisdom. Without magic.
Society often views unrequited lovers as beneath the ones they adore. What a misguided belief. The love that lives inside someone can elevate them to such heights. Especially love that lives in an open system—unrequited, unbound by outcome. That kind of love asks for nothing, accepts everything. It may be “simpler” not to feel it. Less turbulent. Easier on self-esteem. But the magic? The transformation? It only happens in the heart that chooses to love anyway.
I think… I’m ready to fall in love again. Even if it’s unreciprocated. Even if it’s painful. Because I’m tired of pushing love away.
