We were righteous. And I don't mean it in that adolescent 70's, über cool sort of way. I mean we were virtuous, always justified, and so, so balanced. We described it as the perfect couple.
Maybe not entirely perfect on the inside, but he seemed happy with me and I was beyond happy with him. He taught me love, man. He taught me to change myself in ways I didn't know.
He taught me to love everything that made up my soul, the good parts and even the bad. That what I said to him was alright in this realm and that he could abide by it. He taught me so by simply showing he cared for my presence in this world. That he, for a time, loved me too.
How long it takes for the mind to realize that it won't be again. How many hours it takes to delude you into a false happiness.
I always hear "The First Cut is the Deepest," that pop song that would play on those well-known stations back in the day. I looked it up and realized it was written by Cat Stevens and made a single by several artists, one of which we heard all the time on the radio: Sheryl Crow. Anyway, the song bleeds through its annoying pop chords to become something interesting to me. Will love become any easier? Will letting someone go prove itself to be less of an ordeal as I grow older? This pain that begins in my temples and recedes deep into my chest seems like it's here to stay for a long while. It has found its home in my heartstrings.
I lashed out in a way I shouldn't have and now I feel even more alone than ever. I was in my prime with him, on top of my duties and so very happy that it felt as if an invisible pair of arms was always embraced around me and holding my shoulders every step of the way. Universe, I don't know how to let that happiness go, I don't know how to let such a person go.
I wanted to love him until he found his place in the world. Yet it became difficult because he didn't see a light in himself, while we were together. And I did. We were in the same place, yet somehow in a different place entirely. The "us" inevitably became a burden and I lost my heart to someone who had never really found his own.
I think I was too new for love. Too trusting and too blind, in a way that experienced lovers choose not to be. The wound is still fresh in the flesh with no time to heal, and I walk aimlessly. I often find myself completely out of breath, gasping for air and doused in my tears like they describe when your heart is entrenched. Exposed, openly hurt by what couldn't be, it seems.
Does it get easier with time, universe? Does it become easier to love? Or do you just find different ways to an end?
Is this what it feels like when the other part of your soul escapes you?
