**Why Love Hurts (And Why That’s Okay)**

Let me tell you something no one says enough:

**Love isn’t supposed to be painless.**

Not because it has to break us.

Not because we *deserve* to suffer.

But because real love — the deep, true, soul-shaking kind — means letting someone walk around inside your heart like they live there.

And once someone’s been there?

Even if they leave…

Their footsteps stay.

That’s why love hurts.

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It hurts because it asks us to be soft in a world that rewards hardness.

To say “I need you” when we’ve been taught to say “I’m fine.”

To open the door when every instinct says *lock it.*

We fall for someone, and suddenly, our peace doesn’t just depend on us anymore.

It depends on a text reply.

On a tone of voice.

On whether they still mean it when they say, “forever.”

And when things change — when they drift, or break, or fade — it doesn’t feel like a breakup.

It feels like losing a part of yourself you forgot you’d given away.

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But here’s what I’ve learned, slowly, painfully, through tears and silence and too many journal pages:

**The hurt isn’t proof that love failed.**

It’s proof that it was real.

Think about it:

You don’t grieve a fake memory.

You don’t cry over a shallow moment.

You don’t lie awake remembering someone’s laugh unless it meant something.

The pain? It’s not from loving too much.

It’s from caring deeply in a world that often doesn’t care back.

And maybe that’s the risk.

Maybe that’s the deal we sign without reading the fine print.

*I will let you matter to me.*

*And you might leave.*

*And it will hurt.*

But still — we say yes.

Because love also gives us mornings with shared chai.

Inside jokes that make you snort-laugh.

Hands held during hospital waits.

Voices that calm your panic like magic.

And moments so quiet, so perfect, you want to freeze time and live inside them forever.

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Sometimes, love hurts because it ends.

Sometimes, it hurts because it *doesn’t* — but changes into something smaller, quieter, less than what it once was.

Sometimes, it hurts because the person stays… but stops seeing you.

And sometimes?

It hurts just because it’s *so big*.

Like your heart wasn’t built to hold this much feeling, and it cracks a little under the weight.

And that’s okay.

You’re not weak for hurting.

You’re not foolish for loving.

You’re human.

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I used to think healing meant forgetting.

Now I know it means learning to carry the love *and* the loss —

not as a wound,

but as a scar that reminds you:

*You showed up. You tried. You felt everything.*

And that’s brave.

So if you’re hurting today —

whether you’re missing someone,

waiting for someone,

or trying to stop loving someone —

please be gentle with yourself.

You’re not broken.

You’re not behind.

You’re just living a truth everyone else hides:

**To love is to risk pain.**

But to *not* love?

That’s its own kind of ache.

So keep feeling.

Keep remembering.

Keep being soft, even when it costs you.

Because the world needs more people who love deeply —

even if their hearts are a little cracked.

And hey…

your story isn’t over.

The next chapter might hurt too.

Or it might heal you in ways you can’t imagine yet.

Either way —

you’ll survive.

And you’ll love again.

Maybe differently.

Maybe quieter.

But just as deeply.

And that’s beautiful.

💛

— For anyone who’s ever loved and lost,

or loved and stayed,

or loved and wondered if it was worth it.

It is.

Even the pain.

Especially the pain.

It means you’re alive.