Is Love Supposed To Hurt Novels & Stories

I hate him! I fucking hate him with everything I have and I hope he crashes on his stupid bike that makes him look smoking hot! Covering my face with my hands, I burst into tears. I don’t hate him. I could never hate him. I love him so fucking much that I would die for him. I’d kill for him. Why does loving someone hurt so much? Is this what men mean when they say that love is the greatest weakness one can possess? It can be one’s downfall until there is no return.

"And another thing—if we're broken up, stop with the games. The supplements, the breakfasts—what's your deal? Trying to patch me up after you ripped me apart? Like, 'Here's some medicine to fix the wound I gave you.'" Hayden stayed silent, his face like a storm about to break. "We're done, Hayden. From now on, I'm me, and you're you. My life has nothing to do with you anymore." The last part came out in a shout, and as soon as I said it, it felt like I'd carved out a piece of my own heart. It was unreal how he could still hurt me this much after only a few months. The pain wasn't any less than what I'd felt with Jace. Turns out, love doesn't need years to do damage. When you give your heart

She swallowed before speaking those words to him. “It's not love for me, Kieran. Love should never be like this because when we love someone we are never supposed to hurt them but we both have hurt each other. We both have made each other suffer, so it can never be love for me,” she tried to make him understand everything but this time tenderly. “Now tell me how could you expect me to love you when I know at any moment, you would kill someone because of me,” She paused to peer deeper in his gaze .

Every little memory felt like a fresh scratch across my heart. “I wish I had the right words, baby,” Mom said softly, her voice calm and patient, the way it always was when I was hurting. “But I need you to hear this… falling in love isn’t something to be ashamed of. It’s not bad. It means you’re human. It means your heart works.” I sniffled and wiped my nose with the sleeve of my hoodie. “Then why does it hurt so much?” Grandma squeezed my hand tightly. Her palm was warm, her grip soft but steady. “Because you gave him something real. And when real things fall apart, it always hurts. But that pain doesn’t make the love wrong.”

“But shit, dealing with this is so fucking disruptive. I can’t even remember what it’s like to function.” “You know how I think of love, Mar?” “How?” I asked. “People go through life trying real hard not to get hurt. They refuse commitment, give themselves reasons not to date, nitpick little things on first or second dates and call them red flags, look for shadows of unhappiness in a future that hasn’t come to pass,” he said. “But I think love—real love—is finding that person who you know will hurt you at some point. Someone who can shatter you completely. But they’re just so wonderful and so perfect for you that you’re willing to be hurt if it means you get to have them in your life.”

Afterall, it is said that the people we love the most are the people who end up hurting us the most. Their trauma to us stabs deeper because we love them. They are able to hurt us so deeply because we love them so deeply. Passionately. And thinking that they love us too. My father loved me. Tasha loved me too, but I ended up hurting them. I loved my mum to the point of doing anything she asked of me, but she ended up hurting me, silently wiping me out of her life as if I were a stain on her impeccable reputation. No one can hurt you if you don't love them. You just wouldn't give a fuck about them because you don't care about them.

Didn’t he pity me even a little? Tears glistened on my eyes as I racked my brain, trying hard not to break down. It hurts so much. It broke me deeply to discover the things that he’d been hiding away from me. I used to think that love doesn’t cause pain and that it was something beautiful but the reality was completely different. Love hurts like hell. Right now, I felt like my heart was being plucked from my chest, leaving a hole that will be impossible to fill . All the people that I’ve loved have all been a disappointment. Why?

Was turning a blind eye against all the atrocities done against you, closing your ears from all the spiteful sounds that certainly break you little by little and successfully kill you, all bits and parcels of love? Were all these parts of love? Of loving? Was love supposed to hurt you? To let you bask in pain as agony seeped into your bones, in every single cavity there was in your body? To make you feel worthless, unwanted, and not enough? Did it have to make you sleep with your eyes open as your endless nightmares, insecurities, and anxieties haunt you? Was it supposed to make you beat yourself up every single day the sun decided to rise? Was it all supposed to be like this?

"Because I’m in love with you. More than I should be. More than I planned, I never saw it coming, but it happened." His face shifted, surprise softening his expression before it cooled into something more distant. "And so, your way of showing love is getting me fired? That’s how deep your love runs? How does that sound to you? Do you know how much it hurt?" He stood up and picked up his jacket from the couch. "You know what? I’m tired. Tired of being thrown around in the name of love. Real love isn’t supposed to hurt this way, and isn’t toxic either."

Brooklyn. Screw it. My body is vibrating with so much anger and hurt. No one mentions this part about love, just the mushy, fluttering part of it. And gah, maybe I won't have entered or edited this part if I know it hurts this much. It's always the one who loves you that hurts you the most. A tear that I don't know was building, rolls down my cheeks and pulls at my chin. “How long will this go on?”