Feed the Muse: Twenty-Four (Vol. III) [√]

[ 24, pt 2 ]

I once wrote a love poem about meeting you at the age of 24.

Back then, I was an 18-year old hellbent on proving the universe that our red strings led to one another. I accepted nothing but that cosmic destiny, consoling myself that the greatest love stories of all time were ultimately the hardest. At the end of such conflict would be the resolution I wanted. It was you or nothing, you or no one, you or a life of loneliness. There was no history that did not tie you to me. Nothing could rival the decade of affection I held for you. Love was my greatest warrior. Six years later, fate will eventually take pity on my longing and intervene.

They ask, "when did you know you loved him?"

I think about that question often. In the morning, when the sun breaks shyly and stirs the world to life. In the evening, when the light from the moon makes everything more romantic, nostalgic. I think of you in between. Always. Like second nature. My body inherently makes space for your name. Some kind of quiet devotion in my blood that awakens every now and then in your absence. For so many years I have been captive by your existence that every time feels like the first time. The feeling is addictive, dangerous, and in lethal amounts, obsessive to the point of pain.

I ask, "how do you tell someone the reason you are miserable is because you love them?"

Love is an evolution. And like all other unfolding, it brings with it hidden revelations. The more you get to know a person, the more emotions take hold of you. The black and white gets convoluted with a taint of grey, making everything harder and crueler and masochistic. You collect a series of ammunitions, pieces of themselves you either will come to love or hate, new versions that come to light in conversations and the shadows that lurk in the hidden crevices of their bodies. Oftentimes, caring for someone becomes a weight that you drag around all over the place. The enigma becomes a responsibility, one that not all of us have the capacity to carry.

 I do not believe that love can become equal. There will always be someone who will love more, someone who will love less, and someone who tries to navigate the balance in the relationship. As much as we want to find that symmetrical companionship we crave, the universe simply does not allow the existence of a perfect harmony unless there is a sacrifice.

I am miserable because I feel like I could get over you forever without having to let you go.