A second chance at sanity

"to be broken"

~aliquis, aliquid mihi curae or cordi est—somebody, something is never absent from my thoughts~
Sufjan Stevens - Visions of Gideon

To be broken is to be human. Unadulterated and pure.
To be broken is to be at the mercy of the earth.
Like a raindrop, victim of gravity.

Fall.
Fall.
It's all I do.
I tinge the sky.
Taint it's hue

To be broken is to be sick
To feel cold even on sunny days
To shake in the summer gales

Have you ever loved someone so much you can't fathom even thought of loving someone else?
But when you finally get the courage
And you do
The feeling is so damn freeing
Is love supposed to feel like a cage?

And so she sat there. Thinking of ways to escape her thoughts without being self destructive. Without feeling guilty. Without hating herself with every fibre in her body. She sat there trying to hold her own hand. Hand in hand. Self love they call it. It had been days since she last touched herself to the thought of him.

For some reason, today it sunk in that though she had loved deeply. She had loved quite literally, alone. She fell relentless into nothing but a pink haze. She felt the tears threatening to pour from her eyes the way rain fell from the sky when another love, a love she was oblivious of, was being born.

She wanted to stay in this haze, but you can only get through such a haze safely , without your heart being broken if someone holds your hand. Hand in hand.

She thought of her jealousy and how it had consumed her every fibre of her being. She was nasty as a teenager but it never stemmed from a place of envy. It was mostly out of a deep elderly sadness no teenager should ever experience.

She sat there. Basking in her insanity as though it was the river Thames. Incessant and unadulterated. Lost but needing not to be found. Like a funnel of smoke forcing it's way into the stratosphere. She sat there isolated. Alone. And broken.

To be broken is to be many things. But one thing it'll always be, is to be human.

Especially with things like love. Unrequited love.

You see we go through things as people. Things that make us feel as though we are above humanity. We live lavish lives that are up there with the aristocrats. Then , something human, something humbling simplifies us to what we truly are when we experience the grief that comes with mourning a love that never even came to be.

It's unrequited. Not returned. We love hard but we do it all alone.

She thought of his eyes. Usually when she had the chance she'd catch the sliver of hurt behind them. The emotion. She'd bond to him in that sense. The sense that there were both longing for an end to it all. Not for a chance to be together. But for the chance to see clearly again.

You see their love was something blinding. Something powerful. Deceptive. Destruction in the most beautiful way possible. She was his everything. So much so that he was willing to reduce himself to nothing just so she could be his something. His last bit of hope.

She was oblivious to this but, Jo actually valued her more than she knew. Just not enough for her to ever notice. Or feel. Or see.

When she saw him the last time, there was this vacancy in his eyes. This seriousness. There was something like a deep contemplation in them. Like he was asking her, why?

Why?

Why?

Why did you break me the way you did. Strip me of what it is to be inhumane. You just had to break me, to reduce me to what I simply am, a mere human.

If she had loved him before, it was always blindly. And that's why he eventually left her. Left her alone to be human, to be broken. Because is it really love if you can't even appreciate the resplendence of the hand guiding you through the haze. Is it really love if all you do is feel?

All she did was bask in her misery. She was trying to let go of him  but cherish him at the same time. Ofcourse you can't really do either to something that was never yours in the first part. But she had tried. She was trying to forget him, not actually lose him.

He had enriched her soul in many ways. Ways that she was oblivious of. He gave her the strength she needed to face her demons with an attitude of self forgiveness and not self hatred.

She felt it coming. The wave of sadness that would usually result in her sinking into the abyss. But she didn't give in. She just saved herself with music. Music that she couldn't see. But she adored. Music she loved blindly. And she mourned. Mourned a love that may not have even been love.

A love that hadn't come to be. And she couldn't say yet because that would just be embarrassing for her. Then she sunk into a silly feeling. A feeling that came and went everytime something monumental in her life of cognizance was about to happen.

Falling in love?
It was there.

Coming to the realizations that the love may actually be unrequited?
It was there.

Letting go?
It was there.

The feeling couldn't be named but it was similar to her love. Blinding. Deceptive. Beautifully destructive. Like a run on the treadmill. Feel good but painful. Tedious. Not exactly something she looked forward to. Because whenever she felt this way she felt a lack of self control. It was an ominous feeling (as much as it preceded the good stuff) it was like a drug. It compromised her logical side. Made her feel inhumane. Above it all.

She obviously gave in. Because who are to challenge our own hearts? Who are we to deny the brokenness that makes us human?