It is completely silent here. As I rest my mind is wandering aimlessly. I’m trying my best to describe a moment I had in my life with someone whom I almost married. But hurt resides in the memory of her.
To think ill of her would be like me saying my love for her I had in the beginning wasn’t real; it was though. I think of the beginning now and see that though my heart was ripped from me in a cruel fashion to abandon decency in my thoughts of her would be to say I hadn’t loved…but I did.
All the intimate moments weren’t odd or ever in anything less than a blissful passion. Our love was as if there were a blanket of stars beneath us pulsing all the energy of the universe into us. My sin was my sin and hers was hers. I own mine.
I don’t keep a huge circle of friends. Just a tight knit group who will keep my life simple. Not complicated.
Years upon years have passed and I’ve never delved into the arms of passion with anyone since. It may be hard to believe but the hopeless romantic in me had been squashed.
Pounded and beat up, my heart has felt trauma. What my heart felt my mind learned. I know what my sin was. It was not investing effort into my own resuscitation of my own heart. Self-neglect.
It taught me to never let another person have control over how I feel about myself. That within me is where I must find a love for me and who I am if I might feel defeated at times.
So I sit here. Defeated and triumphant at the same time. You know, what the world does to us. We fall and we fall and fall some more. We want to cry in agony at times as we strive for our dreams.
Go to school. Graduate. Get a good job. The American dream. I wanted the dream. I wanted a happy home with children and ballgames(Or Gymnastics, Violin Recitals, Playground Time, Picnics, Hikes, etc.) The usual family rituals one would envision.
Yet pain is a way of life sometimes. It burns us to the ground and we must rise from the ashes. As if a Phoenix. Stronger than before.
Stronger because I can see the pitfalls now. Maybe you have to know the dark before you know the light. For the memory of the hurt we do what we must. Everyone hurts.
Trust me on that. There’s a song in every bar in every state of the United States that mentions or is just solely about hurt. It is a long grueling history when it comes to the history of hurt. I have learned the dark. Now I’m trying, pitifully so at times, to resuscitate light.