July 08, 2008
False Love
In my sleep, my heart begins to race a mile a minute, and my pores begin to sweat. A cold heat comes over me, and as my heart sinks, my brain locks up, simply unable to continue with its routine output of even positivity. As my bare arms begin to tightly clench my chest, my own fingers quiver like never before, and i begin to wish the comfort of a deep sea, enveloping me into its abyss, gently lowering me to its lonely bottom sands.
Ooh, I am not myself, Lord. Forgive me for the pain I endure, and the sufferings I cannot let go, for in this moment, I am no longer thinking of the Good, nor of Hope, nor of Love… I have become identified in jealousy— and in this moment i know nothing else. For now, and for my eternity as I see it, all is unclear.
I have seen his face, quite like mine, and yet, nothing like me at all. We are two simple men, from different corners of the earth, and have come to agree in the most purest of forms; ours is an agreement on love, not for eachother, but for a common other. Because of him, I have come to discover a plot beneath my own that changes my own landscape. It is as if we both love two different sides of the same object, and despite what we might think, neither one of us has the whole. We are in a tug of war, and only the rope endugles. To me, this man’s purpose on this earth is entirely my projected prerogative. To me, he is a dark reflection of all that I am, all that I desire, and all that I will be… simply because he yearns for the very same darling that i have sought, the same madam that has mended my wounds and quenched my thirst for love for so many years. I’ve often wondered what against I’ve been tugging all this time to win her complete affection, and what a worthy foe he must be, for I have struggled so. We want so much the same, he and i, that i despise his persistence in as much as I value my own. I did not want to carry his image with me for the rest of my days, but having uncovered him, i now will, and he will forever be forged in my heart and my crippled soul as that which has taken away from the sanctity of my most prized Love.
A better man, a truer lover, may ask me if i have really stumbled upon Love given that simple fact that i am so easily troubled by the eye of another, who lusts for my lover only never to have her as i do. In response to which, i bequeath in agreement with tears of fear and trepidity. With suspicion eating me away from the inside, can I be certain he does not have her like I do? I am the fool, it seems. Perhaps I have not loved enough. Perhaps I have not given due cause for our love to walk in proud cadence. My eyes spent so far forward, I pity my own self for missing something in the Present of it all…. Such a door left open allows for the avant curious types to pursue, and yes, yes, perhaps love is a fight and a negotiation, something needed to stand the test of time, a heave and twist of relentless tugging, and here, in my naivete, I have mistakenly taken for granted our love, thinking it smooth and unabashed and unwavering. I have the power to make a choice in the matter, and yet, should I gracefully bow out of the way, the weaker in me wonders if this secret admirer would take better care of the love that she deserves. From these inner depths of projection, and to my conscious dismay, I cannot know in truth whats best for me; but alas, my overwhelming conscience knows i care most in whats best for her, that she is happy, safe in the strong arms of Eros.
Can i never forgive him, for I know now that he knows nothing of me?… and if he should know a little of me, its clear to me that he has received fractured truths, half pictures, and my place in each picture is purposefully absent. This is the way my Love wanted it. Two lives she lives, and both are fabrication so long as the one exists side-by-side to the other. Ooh, i feel so hollow now. So round, and vague. I’ve been strung along and entertained for a year and my despair works backwards in time and in memory. How quickly i can be cut out of a storyline….
But alas, i realize I am asleep. He is only a dream; a figment of my imagination, never to have ever existed in truth… i think.
Posted by bell at July 8, 2008 02:52 PM | TrackBack