I love love.

I love everything about it—the sweet, gentle awkwardness of a first date, the hungry deliciousness of a heart-fluttering first kiss—lips locking, eyes meeting, hearts fueled with wild anticipation.

Oh, how I love the raw grittiness, too—the sometimes-snarling fights, the juicy realness of raw secrets whispered shyly across soft pillows.

And f*ck, I love the slow-motion wistfulness—the warm, cozy feeling of weaving fingers together, curling up cheek to cheek on the couch and spilling our soul’s contents over a blushing glass of wine.

I love love.

For a long time—for forever it seems—I was on an all-consuming quest to find love, often thinking of little else.

I’ve flitted from relationship to relationship, like a hungry hummingbird, getting my heart bruised and broken—and yes, breaking my fair share of hearts, too. I’ve poured every drop of myself into whomever I’ve loved. I’ve spent an ocean of energy finding new flames when the old ones didn’t work out—and my god, my bones are dead tired.

I am f*cking exhausted from this endless roller-coaster of starry-eyed romance. I’m dizzy and disoriented, and I’ve started to forget who I am.

It’s not so fun anymore.

Right now—as I inhale sharply into the messy, tender pieces of yet another heartbreak—I crumble in a shockingly beautiful way. For once, I find that I am not seduced into grasping, searching and  seeking a new love. I am not tempted to tumble into a rushed relationship just for the sake of having someone.

No, it feels different this time—it feels different because I’m braver now.

I am done frantically searching  for love to fill my emptiness.

Because this sharp ping of hollow discomfort piercing through my heart—this is exactly always what I’ve tried to bypass—oh, so many times before—the starkness of being alone, the emptiness, the grief and the loss.

It has always felt so much easier to tumble into a new lover’s arms than to face my pain.

And as I sit now—alone—tears roll down my cheeks, tracing the edges of my chin, and I face it all.

And I wonder—if we fall in love to avoid being alone with ourselves, is that really love?

Or is it distraction? Escapism? Fear?

And if we add up all the hours and minutes spent avoiding the thudding pull of loneliness—what would we find? How much time and energy have we spent controlled by the ever-looming fear of being alone? Probably a lot.

Loneliness is a vital part of our human experience—and yet, we so often turn away from it because it feels unbearable and terrifying to face. It feels blank, not busy—not shiny and not as glittery or entertaining as we’d like. But we can’t just delete it because it feels uncomfortable. No—eventually, we have to face loneliness. And when we do—when we unfold into it, like a shy flower—we may find it’s rather exquisite, a strange sparkling treasure in its own right.

Here, in the throes of my fresh heartbreak, as loneliness begs entrance inside—I welcome it. It hurts like hell, but I welcome it. Because avoiding myself no longer holds the glossy appeal it once did—now it just seems senseless. Hiding from myself in a relationship no longer seems fun or daring or sexy—it just seems cowardly.

Because I finally see that I deserve better.

Instead of desperately searching for a wild new love interest, I’m breathing. I’m crying—healing. Getting to know myself again and honoring my pain. I’m going for long walks by myself in the woods. Eating chocolate. Spending precious time with my family.

I am holding super gentle space, and allowing myself to unfold slowly—and I’m facing loneliness one breath at a time, with a wide open heart and a fierce inhale.

Little by little, it feels like the world is starting to open up in front of me—like a dusty old map, filled with dried wildflowers and possibilities—and I am beginning to see that there is so much more to life than falling in love. And hell, I want to explore it all.

I want to see color-soaked art museums and taste tangerine-streaked sunsets and breathe in bright blue skies and know what it feels like to spread my wings—alone. I want to go on breathtakingly brilliant solo adventures, wander through spruce-lined mountaintops and smile at strangers and drink extra-frothy cappuccinos as I spin words, like fire-singed sugar, into poems and dip my toes in aquamarine seas.

What my heart requires right now is solitude, and it’s about f*cking time I listened to her.

Because I have finally learned that relationships are no joke—they’re serious business. It’s a big deal to give our heart to someone—it’s a big deal to merge two lives together.

I’m done giving my heart out, just for fun, just because it feels good. Because in the end, loving out of desperation never really feels good, does it?

Let us be done searching for love to fill us up. Let us stop being careless with our own hearts.

When loneliness comes, like a gust of icy wind—let us sit patiently.

Let us take a brilliant pause and not be in such an epic rush to fall in love again.

Let us not reach outside to fill our emptiness—let us not even reach inside—hell, let us not reach at all. Let us breathe.

Let us be.

Because if we’ve been running around, giving our love to other people for so long and frantically flitting from relationship to relationship, you know who needs our love the most?

We do.

Let us hold ourselves gently, sweetly, patiently.

Let us sit quietly, in the blooming cusp of our broken pieces, and breathe lovingly into them.

Let us be more than a pile of heartbreaks and desperate longings.

Because contrary to what we often believe, we do not always need to be in a relationship.

We need time alone—to heal, to grow. To learn. To explore. To get thirsty for life again. To be broken open. To find the glistening coattails of our dreams and spread our radiant, rusty wings.

Don’t search for love, don’t even sit around waiting for it—-life awaits. It calls to us, and it sings to us every damn day.

Answer that call.

Because love is beautiful, yes—love is delicious as can be—but it’s just the cherry on top.

Let us spend our lives living.

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Author: Sarah Harvey

Editor: Yoli Ramazzina

Photo: Flickr/AleksandraGabriela