I am a bird

Love has lost its place in nearly everyone’s heart. People love with what’s left after they’ve given to themselves, to their work, to their material passion. They do not love with their whole life, they do not love without restraints, without regrets. First love yourself, then give away what remains. Well fuck that, fuck it.

I love with all I have. Love gave a meaning to my life, to myself. I felt happy only because I loved and was loved in return. I felt pain only because my love couldn’t be expressed like it should have. I enjoyed so many things only because they work so well along with love.  And I have lost all that. My love is not longer wanted, no longer needed by the one I truly love. I am empty. I have no reasons for anything, no will. I am left with the imposed necessity of life, because I won’t take responsibility for ending it.

All in all, I had it all, lost it all, and never want to find it ever again. What is the point of loving like I do, to give like I give if it is not enough to keep the other’s love? It is indeed better to have loved and lost than to have never loved at all, but better doesn’t mean it is good in any way.

I have heard all the consecrated words of sympathy. Time heal all wounds. A door closes, a window opens. You’ll be happy again. She might come back. I can disagree with them all. Time has never healed any of the wounds it’s layed on me. I am not one who seeks love, because if it needs to be found, then it is not the love I want. I was not happy before her, how could I be happy after her? How could she have been anything but the love of my life, for all the things I could give her? How could anything ever compare? And how could she come back, how could she find love for me again when we’re separated by a time zone, by our activites, by everything that is not our history? I wanted the best, I had it, I lost it, simply because she doesn’t want the best, just the mediocre crushes, the purely physical and the thrill of the chase. Chase me as I run for death.

Love, hope, will, all is dead, and it doesn’t prevent from life. That, truly, is what is most unfair.

All the beauty in the world means nothing if you can’t share it.