The Gentleman's Book of Thoughts

Broken Connection

There can come a frustration when a good thing becomes bitter. When something sweet and rich reaches its end and expires. For instance a delicate connection, one simple and new. That, over time, becomes entwined and tangled in intricate ways that are both flawed and stunning. When such a grown and nurtured connection becomes broken by such the simplest of means it can cause frustration indeed. A sour feeling, tinged by sparks of annoyance and glazed in a coating of unease. Feelings that grip the chest and causes the eyes to burn. That makes one want to scream and pound, and lash out, but also makes one want to crawl hide away. To curl up and shrink from the world, to disappear and vanish from tomorrows waiting grasp.  It crashes over ones with disheartening waves of dread and washes them up on shore. Only to be pulled back into the grey-blue deep by remorse. It's a torrent of these feelings, a mixture of emotions that are raging and ones that dispirit the will. They batter each other and rise reaching new heights.  They mount into a crescendoing feat that overwhelms until it finally exhausts itself.  Whats left is endless and gray. Like a sea so still It resembles glass and reflects back the spread of dark clouds above, over and over again. It's an absence, an emptiness. Perhaps, in a while, there will be a pulse in the gray, a short small thump in the neverending absence, like the feeble heartbeat of past suppressed memories. Until then, this grey sea will continue to reflect those clouds above that remain. They will stay there until the winds of time blow them away. Left in their place will be that imprint and mark, the shadow of that connection. A faint outline, that will fade and glow brighter with ones passing thoughts. One could wish it gone, to attempt to cover it up, to distract themselves from its constant presence. One may even succeed in this for a while, but eventually, a shift in the wind, a stir in the ripples of the water, will cause a light to shine on the imprint and cause it to brighten. It will catch one's eye, the only memoir left to a forgotten event. One might wonder what unforeseen forces hold this mark in place, that keeps it from disintegrating completely, leaving it for one to reminisce over. One could even regret forming such a  connection in the first place, for if it were never in place, there would not have been any bitterness to suffer through. No amounting peak of raw emotion or prolonged state of gray. One could do without all of this turmoil, but can one truly regret the forming of a good connection? The hands of time move back for no person. Those outlines can become a base, a blueprint for new connections. Where the flaws in the old can be mended, and where something turned bitter can blossom something sweet.