In the end I am alone, alone, the isolation has sunk into my bones. I have fought with shadows, with dark shapeless ominous shadows. Creatures I believe mean me evil, creatures that chase away the light I fight so hard to hold on to. Shadows in my mind, shadows that are vanquished by light every day, every morning, but I have to do my part, I must summon light, for only light dispels the darkness.
I capture the light, hold on to it tightly, refuse to let go. When I finally think I have a good grip on it, I realize I’m sinking, and worse, is the isolation, is that they all left.
The silence is an internal wound, the rejection a grey memory, awful, but welcome. At least I know their hearts, they were always going to leave, no matter what. I would be left alone no matter what so rather this isolated reality than living in an artificial haze of conditional love.
Affection that needs to be feed, when my spirit is spent, and I have nothing left to give, they go. Laughing at my imperfections, determined to justify leaving, rejoicing in the flaws that they saw, the flaws that they now parade like a shield, to justify leaving.
Love is love, it is a privilege, an opportunity to look into someone else’s heart and mind, an opportunity to share, to build and be built.
Takers cannot understand love. Their love is conditional, a trade off, a barter of sorts. I am tired, is not business, trade and study a trade? Why transfer conditions into so sacred a space, why corrupt love with callousness?
All around me people are talking about money, wondering whether I have it or not, those that think I have it dive in. Those that know I have little scatter. . .I am so tired. My own understanding of value is challenged by the worldly isolation.
I have spent so long looking for my love I am tired, I never find him or her, even when I think I finally know him, he only loves the woman he thinks I am, it feels like deception, existing in this fetish love of sorts, a love that will change my hair, hide my voice, silence my spirit. A love that will constrict me into my lover’s preferred box. I can’t, I won’t let myself conform, constrict, be bound, so I leave.
When I meet another love, I find that he is manipulative at his worst, a maverick at his best, he is addictive and still wrong, for him I would drown, but he exerts a high price, that I abandon my belief, my foundation, my hope. . . again I leave. . .this time leaving a piece of myself on him, I cry, I mourn, I obsess, yet I am resolved to not look back, to grow stronger and to stop those ever leaking tears.
I wish we chose vulnerability rather than tricks, vulnerability over a wall of negative speculation, vulnerability over winning, vulnerability over isolation. I understand though, that sometimes it’s ignorance, sometimes lust, sometimes selfishness, sometimes desperation, sometimes ambition, sometimes escapism. . . it’s not always love.
