Love Letter to Unspecified.
A long time ago I heard that the best thing to do when overwhelmed by emotion is to write a letter- this is my attempt to release those inner demons that threaten to consume my heart in the dusty dusk. Please forgive me if it is crude and raw- it is authentic.
I really don't plan on getting on my knees and begging. I really don't plan on holding onto those desperate insurgent beliefs and hopes and dreams. That is not to say that some part of this heart will not retain some little flame, some little fire of that passion- it is just to say that I will retire the candle to its place in the wall so that my hearth can be cleared for the next occasion I might try to kindle a fire. I will not try to convince you, you are better than that and I already know that even if my persuasion succeeded, the victory would be incomplete.
Is that the myth of love? Is that the totem that we hold close to our hearts, this image of a picture perfect sunset, a sweeping kiss in the enrapture of nothing less than complete victory? Is love really the art of learning to settle with the hands that one is dealt? Am I sad because this grand farce has finally become unraveled before me eyes? No. I don't think so. I think that the rational part of my brain already knew these things. I think that I mourn only because I have begun to believe that I can only hold so many candles inside of me before they all burn down.
I once was the romantic idealist. I knew the vision of "young love" and the power therein. I knew of confessions of the heart and I knew of devotion. There is a nasty tendency to characterize first loves as foolish and false. What was thought to be love turns out to be a crush- and the young lover is left to heal and mature and move on.
But what if the first encounter with love is made such that its passion is utterly unmatched? What if even after the lover has been long gone, he still pines for her? Is this the symptom of young foolish love or is this the sign of something stronger and genuine that is particularly engaging because it is the first experience of one with the thing?
But no. You have made your choice and you have set it in stone. I am to be as restrained as a guard-dog continuously taunted by the memory of a delicious morsel just out of reach. I have no choice but to persist in doing what is right, respecting your wishes regardless of my feelings- But even still I would be a liar if I didn't tell you that I hoped my insistence to do what is right might change your mind. How longingly the tender heart insists that all shall work out as long as time is given and the proper respects are given. Am I to be a prisoner of time this frozen heart? I suppose I shall have to remain so. I am free to hope and dream in the freedom of my mind. Even if these thoughts are to poison me and bring about my own self destruction, I don't care. I am a dreamer, and I really cannot help it.
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Step Into The Light (Poetry and Prose Journal)
PoetryA poetry and prose journal of sorts. Be forewarned though, you might not get what you are expecting. Added to on a semi-regular basis.
