I don’t believe that anybody ever starts a relationship with the premise, ok we should prepare ourselves for the inevitable end; but for ours maybe that was the forethought. Two cancers, afraid of being loved and fear of rejection strong within our sense of being. Love is a mystery, a terrible beautiful thing, we give all of us to another wrapped up in a bow and hope we are treasured and protected while in the care of this other. Most times, this just isn’t the case, instead we get back a tattered and torn box with the bow discarded.
Searching is long, sometimes tedious, but when we find the one we laugh with, falling asleep in the scent of them, seeing their truth reflected in our eyes; well we think we are the luckiest people in the world. We believe what we say is real, what we feel must be sacred. Sometimes we lie to ourselves, because we want something so bad or because we are afraid of our own truth. Being lost, lonely inside and searching can often bring about false wants, false promises. I wanted so much, for you, from you, and I believed you thought the same. You see we are not so different, for I lied to myself too. I blinded myself to the truth, seeing what I so desperately wanted to be the truth of us. Seeing your unhappiness nearly broke me so completely, I couldn’t stand the thought of being the cause of such pain in someone I loved so deeply, fiercely. I know that lost empty feeling, of breaking down, believe me I know what giving up feels like. But you got to be the one, with just the premise sorry, I’m a coward.
I have beaten myself up, lost myself, falling and suffocated as I drown in the depth of your sadness and mine. Giving up, losing hope, all of this just simply put, sadness at its most poignant. I feel so small in this great big universe, stumbling trying so hard not to fall. I feel pathetic at times, with the thought I would have done anything for you, gone to hell and back to make you happy, us happy. How do we lose ourselves so completely in another, and how do we find ourselves again. Maybe we don’t, maybe we lose who we were and growth is having to become someone new. So we gather what is left of us, and we look back and we go on. Life is built on broken hearts, songs and poems written about them, stories told, support groups, medicated minds, movies we see ourselves in.
Going in circles, our heads spinning, addicted to sadness, addicted to you. They are all the same, all of our stories. Resonating the same depth of what we lost, surrendering to our selves. I wish I had all of the answers, the magic cure, I would be rich in more ways than money. we cut ourselves so deep sometimes, watching the blood trickle out as we hope the pain will follow. No amount of our own pain or sadness, no matter how broken or lost, the moon still rises, its ethereal glow, healing the wounded hearts of the trees.