'The power of love'. Have truer words ever
been written or sung?
Who wouldn't, yes, couldn't agree?
Inspiration for too many breathtaking love songs, starting point for
about each and every single piece of literature or art ever crafted
by humanity. Groundwork for human existence, interaction, evolution.
Too much pathos? Too exaggerated? Give it a
second thought.
Wars have been provoked by love. Empires
obliterated for it. Look closely, and its evident ambiguity can be
found among the seemingly pleasant notion we attribute to this state
of the mind that forces its way into every fiber of the human soul
with either good or malicious intentions. A less metaphorical Fall of
Men. And no matter what, we fall hard. Take a bite, taste the
sweetness, embrace the unspoiled bliss.
Mmmmhhhh.
Wait just a tidbit too long and foulness
takes over, clasping the rotten odor of decay, covering the appealing
splendor of seduction. Refuse to partake of the temptation and regret
missing out for the rest of your life.
Straight on, Tennyson. 'Tis better to have
loved and lost...
You know the deal.
The lost loves. A myriad of possibilities.
Lovers, sure. Loved ones. Worse. Hopes. Dreams. Life itself?
Devastating.
Another death, another progressive, incurable
illness, another life-crucial impossibility, another, another,
another. It adds up.
And that's it.
The flip-side of the coin.
Love.
It's a game-changer. THE game-changer. Stop
lying to yourself it doesn't affect you that much, doesn't change
you, doesn't rip your heart apart each and every single time. Doesn't
disintegrate that artificial personality made up of social adaptation
and sincere inner needs into a cyclone of millions of microscopically
small components helplessly floating around in the vacuum of your
love-tormented mind.
It fucking DOES.
If you're lucky you pull yourself through it.
A few setbacks included, give or take. Lick your wounds, mend those
scars. Cover them up, maybe hide them beneath the physical ones. We
all carry them anyway.
If not...
If not you screw up. Badly. Drinks.
Cigarettes. Add the occasional stupid decision that seems so
appealing in the now but lets you sink to the bottom of a gloomy sea
in the then, another dark passenger haunting those last remaining
sparks of sanity, mingling with the shadows already there, taking
your breath, a noose around the neck tightening by the minute,
swallowing what's left.
Don't ask.
You hang around in bars and clubs.
Get high on music until the point you are
afraid you might collapse because of the sheer ecstasy of it. Pushing
yourself further by the minute until you finally fall for it with all
your might, fading out your wretched feelings. A cloud of three-four
times to dive head first into, unafraid of shallow waters, Les Paul
siren songs that fill your mind with the ease of hummingbirds, a
constant drumming heartbeat that sets the irregular pace for
emotional survival.
Temporary palliation.
You exhaust yourself. To the point where food
and sleep become a mere distant memory.
You outright open up to complete strangers to
get it all of your chest because you can't stand hurting the ones you
love anymore. The sad faces, the sympathetic words, the well-meaning.
They care before they despair... nothing but drops in the ocean as
they know as well as you do.
You change. Withdraw. Pretend. Act.
Afraid of being recognized as the weird,
hurting, fading likeness of your former self that you have turned
into. And you excel.
Darkness has always been comforting. The
darkest darkness, the one you only find in small town suburbia, far
from fluorescent streetlights or multistory apartment buildings that
try to suck your tormented soul straight from your heart. How
strange.
Right on the dam overshadowing the river,
caught between some bushes and the occasional oak tree. Just a
stone's throw from your home yet far enough to forget its sheer
existence. Here you can dive in, blend in, feel its protective
coating draped around your shoulders. The beauty of a pitch black
night. As appealing as it was at the age of 10. Now offering more
than the mind boggling fascination and awe you felt as a kid when you
snuck out of the house in the middle of the night. Shelter. Peace.
Calming you down.
Breathe out.
Let your thoughts wander.
Forget.
And nights become days.
You can feel it slipping from your grip. 'It'
being it all. Frosted glass panes wherever your gaze trails. You're
going blind. Losing touch.
Desperately waiting for a light at the end of
the tunnel.
Till then...
I'm empty and aching and I do know why.
