It’s a Saturday morning,
A free day.
You sit in your table,
Pen in hand,
Book laid down,
As you evaluate the third quarter of the year.
Your love life is great.
You are happy.
You have found everything you have ever wanted (or so you think).
Face could be better but you really don’t care.
The body is good,
So you settle.
The morning air is cold.
The sound of rain compete with the voices in your head,
As you smile to yourself,
While the words form in your book.
You’ve done good (you tell yourself).
This one is a keeper.
Love life (check!).
People search for what they feel is missing in their lives. They try to fill book pages with words that make it seem like a lot has happened. They evaluate their lives thus far and sometimes what they read at the end is disappointing, other times satisfactory. But never perfect. The journey to self actualization lie in the struggle to fill in those blank spaces and for some, there’s one thing that keeps reappearing on every page of the book. That thing called love.
A simpleton could see your desire to write in the book.
It’s forceful, unnatural.
You make up words.
Fictional memories that never happened.
Just so you can tell yourself,
Everything is alright.
Everything is going fine.
The words increase in number. The font become bigger as the intensity of your feelings pour out into your book, augmenting one another. The details are there. How you would do anything for this person, the sleepless nights worrying about whether the person is cheating or not, when they are not there. The fussing and fighting over things. You are losing yourself. The attraction is strong and ever building up, more intense. Thoughts of doubt racing through your mind as you go on and on. You cannot imagine life without them. You have fallen and the cut in your head is deep. You hit your head hard on the floor. You have lost your mind.
You think you’ve found it.
It has taken over your life,
You cannot do simple things without breaking into lovey dovey behavior.
You annoy everyone.
You act like you’ve found a priceless treasure,
You wouldn’t trade it for anything.
Your breath is taken away,
Their voices do things to you.
You speak in riddles and in rhymes.
You give relationship advice to everyone.
You finally read a Shakespeare.
You are now a love guru.
You go on for hours and hours,
Talking, day dreaming, analyzing.
You are possessed.
There is always some sort of waiting. How the world waited for Jesus Christ to come and save it, the same could be said for people looking for love. People in waiting- just standing somewhere, waiting for something to happen. waiting for anything to happen.
As you write down your last words,
You take a minute to pause.
You look over your beloved pros, the edited cons.
You have meddled in fantasy.
Your love has grown in minutes.
By the pages in your book,
Filled with written words.
You have read Shakespeare.
You can hardly breathe when the person is not there.
And if God forbid you fall asleep,
Knowing that they may not be there when you wake up,
You would never go to sleep.
You have resigned to fate.
You see yourself standing on the edge of desperation.
You describe it as a beautiful harmony.
Two entirely different people,
Colliding with perfect precision.
Devoid of destruction.
Even a simpleton would know,
This cannot be so.
It is just a stupid love,
You cannot control.
After all is said and done, it’s difficult to go back. Bonfire rituals with peering faces stare at the red fire as objects of affection are thrown in to let go. Some have done it and recovered while the others relapsed and decided there was nothing they could do about this love. The feelings will not go away, so they choose to accept that this love, is in all honesty, what it is meant to be.