It's painful. Love that cannot be nurtured but remains in a state of repression. This hurting, deep feeling sours through the body with every hit. It strains, trying to escape and with every glimmer of hope – a smile, a hand-hold, a compliment – it releases at full force. Crash. The wanting glances turn into forbidden passion and a strong sense of guilt pollutes the air. The truth cannot stay hidden. It tumbles from the mouth of one of the victims, tortured by his own peace of mind. Release. But far from the sweet kind. The clean slate, full of potential, is promptly burned. Fairytale ideas of the other victim trampled and her love is left lingering in the air. Rejection. The love triangle moves from the equilateral symmetry it once held as a line is broken and kicked away. The shape damaged from all directions sits awkwardly in uncertainly. But it is still a shape; it can create itself a new identity, while the battered line, bruised and alone, shamefully faces a world it does not recognise. A knowing of her very person lies in question as she is forced to redefine what she believed was her future. Fear. Life moves as normal around her. A days simplicity becomes a major chore. Pointless. The pain jabs with every gaze at what could have been her. The intensity overwhelming and the breakdown inevitable. Again. And again. Love cannot just stop. I wish. I wish it never begun to grow. Perhaps then this new year would not begin with the chewed vines of the rosebush left rotten on the floor, but with the possibility of the seeds taking hold and flourishing into something powerful. The love will fade eventually I'm sure, but forever the memory will haunt me.
This is my distinctive ponder. A shattered heart. A broken new year.
No comments:
Post a Comment