It’s funny how I thought love was the cure to the disease of life, and if you really think about it, does life not begin after death? What we’re doing is slowly dying. This thing we call life is terminal. Anyway, back to love, the cure that turned out to be poisonous. The thing that made me bitter. The black heart that was promised as a golden heart. Back to love, so far in sight like distant misty hills, so cold the chills when it leaves like the wind, so high the feels like rising smoke from the ashes of all poetry books ever written, let’s talk about this bird that’s always ready to fly. Away, towards? Only God knows.
The one who is obsessed with you is the one you wish could delete your number. The one you’d like to obsess over you is the one who has blocked you. The one you spare your last cents to prepare a meal for is the one that says they won’t be able to make it, and ends up eating at another’s place, and the one your bouncing date truly wants is already in a happy relationship. Do soulmates actually find each other or is that a concept we made up to apply ointment on the gangrenous fact that all we do is settle for the best available option at the time life applies pressure on us? Not sure I’m being blunt enough so let’s get a little personal.
In an attempt to romanticize heartache; you’re out near the hills, crying and cursing him and life, and then a train passes by and you stop your crying and eye the hissing and clicking train passing. You forget for a minute the sharp edges of every ‘I love you’ that cut you, and you smile at the noise, trying to romanticize life with watery eyes. Your eyes close on the show of ‘what is this life?’ and ‘why am I like this?’ and ‘why me?’. You can’t just believe in the good. At some point, you have to believe from the good. And if you’re not springing up from the root of belief, are you really a believer or a wishful thinker? There’s no one rushing me right now to go anywhere; I could stay right here, but often when a peace like this rushes in to my senses and being, it turns it’s head back as it continues to run forward, eyes already looking for, or perhaps looking out, for the bad.
I’m done trying to love or be loved. I’m walking about life like I have three months left to live, tasting everything my tongue curls inwards for; except eating out bleeding hearts. I’m dripping blood from mine, again, but this time that rip has remained unstitched for a long while. I told my friend Eliza that I was ‘done trying to love or be loved’ as I checked his insta, debating whether to unblock him, but then I thought; when someone makes a decision about your involvement in their life, respect it, even if it means you have to walk away with a heart pumping in nothing but blood and pain, so I deleted his pictures. I deleted too all the pictures of couples holding hands and let the smoke from the ashes of all my poetry books choke me, but I didn’t pass out.
I loved you like that.
We all should write confessions then delete them. Purgative purposes. We all should eat with our enemies but never allow them to prepare the meal. Love love, are you there? We all should sit at the high table with the people who have let us into their inner sanctum, and those with under-the-table mannerisms we should kick out. Or should we forgive them; welcome the embarrassment. Should we still love those who embarrass and despise us? Those who block and delete us from their lives? So then, should we love love, regardless of the damage it leaves in our hearts? Should we measure it like a piece of land? And can we? Should we empty that truck of oxytocin in the field near the misty hills and walk back to civil land; walk away just like that because so and so did this and that to your mind and heart. Can you not remember how good the good parts were, and why do you think it can’t happen again and even better?
I say we should run. From what? Towards what? When you’ve been sat on rock for long and feel the hardening of your behind, next time you know to bring a jacket with you for your delicate behind. I say we should not let our hearts sag so low for very long. We know how tasty things could get, but I hate this man so much right now nonetheless.
Is it a must? This love we crave, cry and pray for, is it a must? Is that the only way we as human beings can feel like we are living full and happy lives; by being in love?
Must our parents compare us to the agemates who have accomplished not just the feat of marriage but of child bearing, and why is that pang so strong right at the center of our chests when we see two lovers holding hands that we go out of our way to create fake social media accounts to hate on them? So we really do want it that bad huh?
Well, let me look for money. I have never not once felt happy with a heavy pocket, but a heavy heart? If I could tear it out of my chest I would have already. This is the part I’m playing in the current state of my life and I’ll be damned if I don’t drink myself to hell. It’s time for the little demon in me to shine. If you thought I was telling you to take another chance on love; take another chance on love then.
You need to live from the action and not just the thought of dreams. It’s laughable when you picture the spot you’re standing on compared to the size of the universe. That is love. Quantify it and you miss the mark. Do you know that as far as wavelengths go, Earth’s sky really is a bluish violet. But because of our eyes we see it as pale blue. Because we are human we fail, but because we are spirit too we rise from the ashes of burnt poetry books and wait for distant misty hills to clear and ready our wings to fly.
From what? Towards what? Only God knows.
PS: sometimes I want love, but everyday I want money.
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