Love Like Its Your Worst Nightmare
It gives me chill. This love. This burning hell kind of passion. The one that oozes like all poets described it- with fury, fierceness, fantasy, enchantment, even with some obscured, unknown, unmeasurable SOMETHING.
I just want to think about how 2 contradicting things can happen all at the same time. Beautiful and ugliness. Good and bad. Bitter and sweet. Something like in between day and night- then not knowing which. It’s not even that one is uncertain. It’s just that, it doesn’t feel right to be unsure on where we stand. To have doubt it like to have a problem, to lack something that should be there, to be unable to live up to something that has to be lived up to. They seem to be there but barely touching somethign that could actually move one to a ground that would keep the anxiety sane (on mellow grounds).
It just seem right but wrong all the same time. What do you call that feeling? What makes it the way it is? Why should it exist that way? What would alleviate it? Then maybe alleviating it means undersatnding until it feels almost so natural, so dumb, dense and senseless for instant just accepting everythign with closed eyes and deaf ears.
All one can do is keep busy… then later found that there is the stillness of the night that makes one feel heavy. Despite happiness being thrown in different epitiomes- friends, family, pet, comfort, etc…- but it doesn’t seem enough. One could have so much but feel empty. One could dream more but find it lacking cause dreams aren’t enough. Dreams aren’t answers. Happiness isn’t even always a choice (to those who just CAN’T be). Pretense is the greatest substition to those who have the inability to be happy. But that doesn’t even mean any sincerity. And eventually, there would be moments that she or he would realize that they’ve built layers of blanket of security. But that doesn’t save a dying man of a disease or it doesn’t warm a homeless person with cold feet on cold days. It doesn’t guarantee a long term promise. it could only be the next, closest thing to help one get up and move forth without moving on. The heaviness would trail, echoe and for some time, "repression" is the word for it. The way we just want to forget doesn’t solve a problem though. it would momentarily suspend the effect, the downpour, the mixture of emotions… but it wouldn’t get one sane enough to say "I’m okay", independent and better that way. It would delay some outburst that could’ve made things uglier if one or the other remained impatiend, ill-tempered, hot headed and unyielding. Understanding thus could save people from falling, wilting…
Is it human nature to feel good things temporal and feel bad things are more affecting, more engraved and more impactful (that it could exceed the former regardless of its worth) ? Then that would explain why some people feel more the downside, rather than rejoice at the cheeriness of folly. The folly, the good times are seen too frolic. While the bad times are deemed too seriously… That would explain too a lot of things. For instance, how one would feel more negative than positive about love. To fear more, more than anything else…
To have too much faith seems suicidal. Its like a judge of character whether a person has been a fool for love or doing something right for love. But what is that SOMETHING?!?! what makes love so worth it? why do one have to depend on it so much as if it has been to attached to my routines despite resembling bad habbits/bad vibes/growing addiction/self inflicting pain.
What would free a person from the chains, the thorns, the so many similes that HURT has been expressed by endless poets, writers, song writers, lovers… and how do I describe that hurt that they expressed like scarched toxin, venom, sickness that kills the most fragile thing, the most sane thing- the senses… all at the same time. Eventually, there would be a loss of self, the death of one’s sanity, the obscureness of everything going on… it would be an unhealthy life to live. but what would make it healthy is the healing process, the recovery- imposed by that understanding and keeping the mind busy (alternative when mind just clots a bloody hell and understanding has become impossible). There would be times that one would never understand well since it would exceed one’s patience and even surpass logic. How could one be loved and get hurt all the same? i never got an answer for that.
This invigorating, downpour love blood… the one that drips, clots, emulates… this soulful blood. it is just downright scary to lose it. the blood that contains yourself. you lose it, you end up with nothing. nothing understandable. . . . . . . .
