I have never been a man who could not follow his heart. When I was younger that meant looking for the cracks in the world. It meant exploiting my talents and the talents of others for fun and profit. When I met Morgan, that started to change. I began to mold myself into a man she would be proud of. When she was ripped from me, my heart led me into darkness. Into silence. Because in the hushed darkness it was easier to heal. And, while externally, I became more harsh, more abrasive, more cutting; internally I became introspective. As I poured over and over the events of that night searching for any way, any possibility that this was a dream, a nightmare. And despite myself, I healed. And I met a man who led my heart out of that darkness. Who showed me it was OK to love again. OK to still be alive. He eventually left but I was awake and could not close myself again.
So I followed my heart. Again and again each time I was hurt. Each time I learned what humanity was. In my long absence, I had grown cold and distant. Until a year ago, when I finally forgave myself for not saving her. I forgave myself. But I must acknowledge that I failed My Morgan. And I will never fail a love again, if I can help it. If I know what is happening.
And I opened myself up, and I, in my naivety perhaps, thought I had found. But no, again and again, my heart leads me to people who are hurt and I try to help them. Because that is who I am now. Not the only thing, but it is one of the pillars. But I pay a price each time. I can love and love forever. And each person I love leaves or will only give so much before they pull back to safety. And so I am stripped bare. Cast adrift, seeing the bright lights of the people I love, twinkling from the shoreline. While I drift at sea, forever unable, seemingly, to make landfall.
There is a euphoria to posting something that is both personal and fundamentally true. It carries you for a time. Like walking after setting down a great weight you’ve been holding on to. And just like that, it wears off. Pretty soon, you feel like yourself again.
It may be this time of year. I just can’t seem to reach back beyond that night. I try to think of the night we met or any of the hundreds of other moments that we were happy in. But it all just morphs into me holding her. Waiting for the doctor to arrive. Her shallow breathing.
I feel empty. For the last few years I’ve been, at least, talking to someone romantically. That takes the edge off. Like there is hope. But this year, it’s all just ashes.
I find myself crying. And have for months now. I can’t seem to get out of this. Mostly, in the day, I’m OK. But night brings the silence and I can’t handle it.
I would dance a thousand lives
Swallow a thousand lies
But I’ll never be with you
The river carves
While we while the time away
Hoping for healing voice
But finding our paths to tragedy
Sin in hopeful tone
Long buried beneath
Perhaps, a chance
I am lost in the echo
I would die a thousand deaths
If I could hold you in my arms
As I slipped away
I would live a thousand lives
If I could live them by your side
I would fight a thousand battles
If I could keep you from harm
I would watch your back a thousand thousand times
As you fought the battles I could not see
These thoughts as I lay awake dreaming
In this empty bed
In this too quiet room
Give me a moment to catch my breath
I’m lost in this minute without
The air tastes of mint and menthol
I can’t tell the difference between
Moving on and moving back
I can’t decide
Can’t find a choice
I’m lost in this perpetual glow of hope
Does it matter?
I was never hurt by waiting
Just pushing away
Trained to accept your word
I falter in holding on
Because you say
I’ll leave and I say stay
I suppose it was always too late
When I first talked with her it was through comments on a thing I wrote. That happened more and more until I felt I was getting to know her. Then I said I was falling for someone and she knew though I didn’t say that it was her. We started talking in earnest and it seemed to be going well. Then tragedy struck and we seemed to be getting through that. I was right on the verge of saying, “We need to meet in person.” And as I was typing that to her, I found myself blocked. She’d ghosted me. I was destroyed. Beyond destroyed, devistated.
My friend helped me pick up the pieces. It took 4 months before I wasn’t I complete mess. Then as my life got back to something resembling good, she messaged me. Out of the blue. Explaining and apologizing. I’d let her go. Let the pain go.
I was with someone which ultimately fizzled and now we’re just friends.
And after it fizzled we allowed each other back into our lives. And it was good. Not like it was but still really good. But now she’d push me away and I’d not let her. I’m not a idiot, I saw what was happening and I don’t want, didn’t want to let her go.
Then she came to me completely rational and told me that she couldn’t be with me and work through what she needed to work through.
I said ok. I said it more eloquently than that but that’s what I said. What else could I say?
I would do anything for her and if the thing I could do was leave her to heal on her own without me, then of course I had to let her go.
That doesn’t mean that I don’t still love her. Or, if I’m not with anyone, would not want to be with her. I still think about her all the time. I used to dream that I slept by her side. Those dreams are gone.
I would never have left her if she didn’t request it. Life is the stupidest rigged game you’ll ever participate in. Even if you think you know what is happening, you never really do.
So I took this down, put it up, took it down, I edited it, life….it sucks.
In my youth
I thought to remake the world or burn it
to break it and rebuild
but somehow those dreams slipped away
replaced by just trying to be content
to find a way clear of sadness
looking for and finding
failing and loss
breaking and broken
it was I that was lost.
And somehow I woke
but always craving the dream
a world where you loved me
He made me feel alive by looking at me
He made me feel sick when he looked away
But he would always come back and my heart would burst to sunshine
But always remember, that black night with the open door
When he kissed me I burned and when he whipped me I woke
And when he left me
I was alone with the quiet and the open doorway bleeding light into the night
In a time before I knew that I was alone
And that all my futures were empty
But there he stood,
Holding my gaze and beating the pain from my bones and replacing them with fire
Until I could take no more
And collapsed against his chest and begged him to Stay
Stay with me and don’t walk away
The quickest way to leave is to want more than they give
This lesson I learned again and again but I cannot be so callous
And I made a habit of lifting them up and granting strength until I had nothing left to give
A spent thing watching them walk away, healed and better. While I break a bit more, a bit further, always hoping
And always left with nothing but a open door, spilling light,
There are 2 types of people. People who have lost some they romantically loved and those that haven’t. Let me be explicit. A person who died, either by violence or not.
The people without this get to have the luxurious illusion of the one true love. That somehow they have the secret. That they have their forever, their true, love.
On the one hand I am envious of their illusion. It is a warm place. A safe place. On the other, I fear for them. What happens when the glass bubble shatters. What happens when they know loss. Do they, then begin to wither? For one thing to be true for so long has the danger of becoming truth. And Truth is hard to recover from.
Those of us who knew loss early, know that each love is different. Each love has its own existence, its own feel. And, sadly, there is no one true love. Each love is flawed and each love is perfection.
Tragedy wakes us to this. We know that the one true love thing is a myth. We know because it can’t possibly be true. And, for myself, why I hate anything that speaks of predestination or everything happening for a reason. Things happen because of chance or because someone took a course of action. Often, several someone’s. But there is no grand design moving us all to some predestined ideal. This is another illusion.
I’m not saying that there is not powerful, strong love. I’m saying that the one true love is a trap. A lie that comforts. Treat each person with dignity, respect, and affection. Treat them with desire, if you desire them. Act courageously. Love completely.
But don’t fall into the logical fallacy of ‘one true love’. It not only isn’t true. It must not be true.