"Where does love go when it dies?"
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Jul. 6th, 2012 | 02:45 am
Compelled to answer scribed aria after my morning's 10 am reverie, I admit that I am unsure if I am able to love another person.
A few nights ago I found myself saying that I did not know what love is - how it feels, how it looks like, if it is even real. I did not think that I am able to store it in my chest. Not akin to the ones that I am born into, this mystical word that is love that I am talking about.
I think I know what adoration is, I could have gotten closest to love not too long ago, but it kind of slipped and I didn't bother abseiling down the well to go look for its air. Or rather, it just wasn't mine to have.
I have seen friends collapsing into pieces, their faces wrenched with ghastly distraught, their eyes home to Mourning. I tell them that I am there and I am there and I will hold their faces up to breathe, but I knew nothing could save them from curling up on the floor like a fetus, holding their seared spirits in with whatever hope that is left to weave in their lithe bodies. I know because the time that I was sitting on the table beside my window, listening to My Salvation Song on repeat (150 plays on iTunes) and succumbing to death sticks that are cigarettes and wanting nothing more than to die. Thoughts of free-fall played its cheeky reel in my mind and I played along. I know because when I was where "love" left me and I didn't know how to live anymore.
I do not think love dies at all. It leaves. Like energy, it is not created or destroyed.
It merely leaves, with its despondent sigh chiming in the ears of your visceral, and it moves on.
It becomes something else - anger, hurt, confusion, inconsequential acknowledgement, whatever else one could pick out from the spectrum of human feelings.
It doesn't die.
It simply changes.
I am but a 19 year old struggling to fight life's inertia. Sometimes it gives me a break and I appreciate that. (there is no good if there is no bad, no smile if there is no sad!)
I am anything but fully awake and feeling straight. While I attempt to iron out my thoughts (I might be clinically schizo, but let's just leave it as it is) I'll just continue to muse like a fingerling.
Also to not take life too seriously is proving to be a challenge...it is either I do or do not. Maybe if I try hard enough I would fit in somewhere. Or not try at all.
Like this post - how the hell is this not taking life seriously? I don't know.
elle est ce qu'elle est, i guess?