Love is strange. It can be changed and thrown around like a penny even though it's worth every piece of money in the world. Some people don't see money as worth anything and the same comes with love.

          When you love someone, you promise to protect them. You promise to support them. You promise to accept them. It's a promise to be a guardian and strive to keep their joy alive. And once your promise is broken it leaves them vulnerable once more.

          Loving isn't being in love. When you are in love you are brought like a guest and bodyguards to the heart of the person. There to create a bond unlike the one of sheer protection. You trade pieces of your hearts like pastries and they drop a few crumbs scattered around in you heart for they will never fully be whole again.

          People who love you are meant to be there for you. They are meant to be the people you can count on to attempt to make you smile again. As a person who loves, you have a responsibility to the person you love. They shouldn't be told lies about how you will always support them, so when they lean on you they just fall to the ground without cushion. They shouldn't be begged to reach out only to grasp at the air and fall. They shouldn't be shone disappointment and told to apologize for not being the picture perfect doll you love them as.

You don't love them. You love perfection. And you decided that they match you standards.

          Perfection is strange. It can be interpreted many ways, yet it is so rigid. Controlling. And never enough. Perfect is so unknown to us that when you seek it you find yourself going in every direction only to loop back around for the 4th time and still be looking. Perfection is an empty title that holds nothing but misery. Perfection is a shrinking square that incloses in before collapsing in on itself to just get rebuilt again. It's an unforgettable stain on a tablecloth that used to be "perfect".