When I was seven, my mother told me that love is as beautiful as the setting sun.At that time, I believed her because the romanticist in me sang to my heart that this was the truth. But it was only with age and a wisdom I would happily trade for oblivion that I came to realise just how true her words were. And unfortunately not for reasons the seven-year-old me had presumed. There is no better metaphor that can be used to describe an emotion as fickle as love than by comparing it to the setting sun because therein, you see, lies the whole problem. The ultimate flaw in this whole glorified concept of 'true love'.
For as the sun disappears beyond the horizon so do feelings, so does that addiction, that passion, that temporary high that lovers newly fallen claim would never fade away.
How, you might ask, can I be so sure? Who am I to doubt an emotion as famed and acclaimed as sweet, sweet love? Well, my friend. I, too, once fell down that chasm. I, too, once indulged in a feeling so deliciously intoxicating, it made me forget myself.
Needless to say, it didn't last. It rarely does.
You see, no one had ever warned me about the fragility of first loves. I had naively proceeded down that flowery path with rainbows in my eyes and sunshine in my heart. But now I know. I know that young love never lasts, and young hearts are always falling apart.
But the problem is, knowing doesn't help with coping. Knowing how it all works doesn't make bearing the pain any easier. Perhaps that is what has shaken me up the most. The fact that facts alone can't help me see reason. That it's illogical to apply logic to matters of the heart.
I confess: I can't ever read this without feeling twinge of embarrassment and amusement. It's just a short excerpt from a book I'll never write, and trust me, this passage is very misleading. Idk this whole rant is just so funny to me??? Like, dude, who peed in your breakfast this morning, just chill xDBut ... regardless of what I think of this excerpt, I still wanted to share it??
YOU ARE READING
CARPE OMNIA | POETRY
PoesiaIn the cold night, under the warm honey glow of a lonely lamp post, I silently search for you. I wait.