Adelaide

by Genevieve Wheeler

if we honestly knew the price of love was grief, we’d never do it. We’d never succumb in the first place.

It’s so cruel, she said, pulling him into another hug. That grief comes part and parcel with love.

Pain is pain is pain. It was important to recognize your privilege, yes. To show gratitude, to count your blessings. But it was also important to acknowledge and accept your pain, to understand that no matter how large or small your problems, your losses, your wounds—they are yours. And you’re allowed to feel them. The hardest loss will always be your own.

had to remind herself that it was, in fact, okay to feel. That it was okay to fill her lungs with air, her tank with fuel, her brain with the chemicals it needed. It was okay to go to hell and back, to carry every ounce of light and darkness inside of her. It was okay to love herself

She muttered an apology, out of habit, though she knew no one could hear her.

I love you the most, you know, she said. And I’m here to help battle that darkness with you.