One of these days I'm going to jump.

Before the world was up, I watched the clouds roll in and had a cup of tea. All day long I dodged puddles and covered my head. But when I watched the storm I'd been avoiding move across the lake and head towards me, I walked outside into the middle of it, barefoot and uncovered. Trying to breathe while the world poured on me.

Here's what I know about life: I know what it means to hold back. And I know how it feels to let go. I know what they say about love. And the look on people's faces after love.

It's not about black and white, yes and no. Or how hard I try. Or how perfect it feels. It's more barbaric than simple compatibility and fluttering sensations. Messier than bows and small boxes. Love isn't beautiful. It's not Betty Crocker and Martha Stewart. It's more primitive than that. It's the oldest, strongest instinct we posses.

I'm living in a world of people who are waiting to fall in love. People who see the right person in every face. They're ready to jump and fall and fling. We have a desire to believe in someone. To be believed in. And it does crazy things to us. We drive faster and smile so much that our faces hurt. We wear clothes that are hard to move in. We use small words and laugh at everything.

We fall so easily. And we play the game so willingly. Then when we're left to pick up the pieces, we can't remember how they all fit back together. And we swear to never love again. We order popcorn and watch movies about love and use whole boxes of tissues. And after a while and a little inspiration, our faith is restored. And we have another go at it.

There has to be a better way. A safer way.

When I'm honest, I'll admit that sometimes I miss whoever he is with everything that I am. That I reach a point where I'm tired. Tired of being rational and safe and waiting, waiting, waiting. Sometimes I want to put on red heels and a black dress and dance in the madness with everyone else.

But then I see the ravages of what they thought was love on their wet faces. And I hear their stumbling sentences. And the way that they doubt who they are tears at me inside. We try to forget how serious love is. We play around with it, at the cost of our spirits.

And it's after those late nights that I resolve to hold out.

Because while part of me wants to climb mountains and watch sunsets and discover hidden places with someone, another part of me realizes that it takes more courage to do it anyways, alone. And the more I do alone, the more comfortable I become with who He's made me.

Listen. Sometimes you have to put on a dress and curl your hair just because. Go outside and live. Swim at night and wave to the moon, go to movies and take up a whole row, grab a map and drive somewhere new. Stand in the rain. Get out of bed and watch the colors of the sun. Stay up late with a bottle of wine and paints and sing along with the music. With someone. Or alone.

Being in Love is not the solution to being alone. And being alone is not a problem to be fixed. It's not something to be afraid of. Life doesn't wait for you to join in. Your other half doesn't make you whole. Life can be worn alone and worn well. This is what I know.