a 21st century lover

I guess I'm not built for this

I guess I'm not built for this - January 27, 2024

Everyday is a battle to find the will to go on. The purpose that I shouldn't give up hope. Holding onto hanging threads as delicate as a spider's silky web. It reassures me that it will hold so that I may climb out this hole I've dug. Yet, every time I grab on. Snap. Every thread seems to disintegrate by my touch. I've resorted to only responding to the voices attached at the end of these daunting silverine strings. The voices tell me of a future of comfort and love. A life full of attention and care, nurturing my sunken heart. I become alive with a new breath of hope within me. Propelled by those temptations, I grab and swing at the webs only for them to once again disappear from sight. And with it, there goes the voice. Is this it for me? To be nothing but a trapped man whose heart calls for no one? Maybe I'm not built for this? I'm the author who retells the wonders and woes of love that I never had. I am the artist that paints a wondrous portrait yet no muse to draw. I am the Cupid who guides the people who they're meant to be and cannot guide love to himself. I am not meant for this. I can say I love you over and over and mean it but be met with no avail except the haggard, severed strands on the floor. My words shall no longer be uttered. My hands drop this arrow and bow. It's time to close the book and put down the pen. Leave the canvas blank. No more, dare I say. No more heartbreak. No more disappointment. I may have been built to heal and bring people together, but today is my resignation. I will fill this hole with the tears and swim by myself out. In a world where love rejects me, I shall then reject the world of my works. No longer will I be their therapy. I stand with my last steps upon this Earth. I leap into this lonely heaven, blind to all love and shun away its miracles and gifts. If I was not built to receive love, I will no longer give my love.