The Fantasy of Love- Valentine's Day Edition
As I was doing some "Spring Cleaning" in my computer's hard drive I discovered an old poem from an important broken relationship several "iterations" ago. The words, theme, emotions seemed very similar to the events of the past several relationships. Is it possible I've not been learning those important life lessons so well? It's always enlightening and a bit dangerous to dig though the "files".
Goodbye
6/6/02
Once again I have held onto the fantasy of a relationship that will never be what I long for. It can be so comforting to do so even in the face of the brutal truth of pain. Why is it so hard to let go? Maybe from the fear that nothing new will follow or the meager hope that the future may swing into one’s favor. It is a fool’s proposition and should not be undertaken even in the grandest of desperations.
Yet, here I am. All too eager to tread down this familiar path scared of the shadows of the unknown that lurk on either side. I have not been wise. I have fallen too quickly and given of myself too freely. I have failed to make my lover prove her worthiness of my love. Instead, I handed it out like a flyer on the street that nobody wants. I have devalued myself and consequently there is little of a balance left in my emotional account.
I cannot blame you my love. Though the jabs I have slung your way may lead you to believe it. I am merely lashing out in frustration from my own anger at myself. You have merely been you and your faults and own emotional trauma are yours to own. I have somehow blamed myself for these, which only proves again how little I value my love. No, you are not culpable in this greatest of crimes against humanity, the act of betrayal of one’s self.
Still, the water color façade must be wiped clear with the tears of remorse and pity and the brutal fresco beyond allowed to come into plain view. You are not worthy of my love as callous and self-centered as that sounds. But to me it is a mere statement of fact and must be accepted just as the sun will rise in the morning.
I have learned well the limits of your love. The scars from your past have disfigured your heart so that there is little room for me amongst that mangled tissue. Oh how I have tried to heal you. Tried to force my loving will upon you to repair those wounds. I have only received pain in return for your gratitude. Yes, there has been progress. You have opened up as much as you can and your growth continues to crawl on its belly like a snail searching for water in the sun.
But I am tired. Tired of waiting for the cards that do not come, the phone calls that are never placed and the reaffirmation of your love that rarely touches my lips. We have become like complacent siblings satisfied in our routine out of convenience and comfort. Yet, this is not the love I desire.
There is one final matter in this that I must gain a hold. In my mind and heart I have still given you the power to hurt me. I still fear of your letting me go. Or worse, the thought that I was never really yours to begin with. That fleeting concept of possession that brings us all comfort but is as much an illusion as the oasis in the desert where nothing but the sturdiest of souls can survive. The desire to be special, unique, the greatest and most important love is the loss I feel the most. For once we let go surely others will take our place with these same expectations.
I have been down this path before my love. I know that time will do as she always does and repair the affairs of the heart. Wiping clean the pain like the wind as it smoothes over the desert turning it flat as glass. Still, in this moment the panic is as real as always, making me afraid. Afraid of my own mortality and insignificance as the love shrivels and dies leaving my heart alone in the vast universe.
How I wish it all could have been different. That bold dream that taunts eternity and proclaims an intense love that will outlast our own mortality. But this is not how it works, I am almost certain. Where we have found ourselves now is where we were meant to be for love is as mortal and fragile as our corporal beings and its death is just as unpredictable. No, it could not have been any different even if we had tried. Tried what? What we didn’t know or could never really comprehend or begin to feel? No, there was nothing that could have been done and this maybe is the most difficult to accept of all. So then, I turn away and continue on, without you forever.
Goodbye
6/6/02
Once again I have held onto the fantasy of a relationship that will never be what I long for. It can be so comforting to do so even in the face of the brutal truth of pain. Why is it so hard to let go? Maybe from the fear that nothing new will follow or the meager hope that the future may swing into one’s favor. It is a fool’s proposition and should not be undertaken even in the grandest of desperations.
Yet, here I am. All too eager to tread down this familiar path scared of the shadows of the unknown that lurk on either side. I have not been wise. I have fallen too quickly and given of myself too freely. I have failed to make my lover prove her worthiness of my love. Instead, I handed it out like a flyer on the street that nobody wants. I have devalued myself and consequently there is little of a balance left in my emotional account.
I cannot blame you my love. Though the jabs I have slung your way may lead you to believe it. I am merely lashing out in frustration from my own anger at myself. You have merely been you and your faults and own emotional trauma are yours to own. I have somehow blamed myself for these, which only proves again how little I value my love. No, you are not culpable in this greatest of crimes against humanity, the act of betrayal of one’s self.
Still, the water color façade must be wiped clear with the tears of remorse and pity and the brutal fresco beyond allowed to come into plain view. You are not worthy of my love as callous and self-centered as that sounds. But to me it is a mere statement of fact and must be accepted just as the sun will rise in the morning.
I have learned well the limits of your love. The scars from your past have disfigured your heart so that there is little room for me amongst that mangled tissue. Oh how I have tried to heal you. Tried to force my loving will upon you to repair those wounds. I have only received pain in return for your gratitude. Yes, there has been progress. You have opened up as much as you can and your growth continues to crawl on its belly like a snail searching for water in the sun.
But I am tired. Tired of waiting for the cards that do not come, the phone calls that are never placed and the reaffirmation of your love that rarely touches my lips. We have become like complacent siblings satisfied in our routine out of convenience and comfort. Yet, this is not the love I desire.
There is one final matter in this that I must gain a hold. In my mind and heart I have still given you the power to hurt me. I still fear of your letting me go. Or worse, the thought that I was never really yours to begin with. That fleeting concept of possession that brings us all comfort but is as much an illusion as the oasis in the desert where nothing but the sturdiest of souls can survive. The desire to be special, unique, the greatest and most important love is the loss I feel the most. For once we let go surely others will take our place with these same expectations.
I have been down this path before my love. I know that time will do as she always does and repair the affairs of the heart. Wiping clean the pain like the wind as it smoothes over the desert turning it flat as glass. Still, in this moment the panic is as real as always, making me afraid. Afraid of my own mortality and insignificance as the love shrivels and dies leaving my heart alone in the vast universe.
How I wish it all could have been different. That bold dream that taunts eternity and proclaims an intense love that will outlast our own mortality. But this is not how it works, I am almost certain. Where we have found ourselves now is where we were meant to be for love is as mortal and fragile as our corporal beings and its death is just as unpredictable. No, it could not have been any different even if we had tried. Tried what? What we didn’t know or could never really comprehend or begin to feel? No, there was nothing that could have been done and this maybe is the most difficult to accept of all. So then, I turn away and continue on, without you forever.
posted by EuroSnob | 5:58 PM
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