Love is an emotion, it's a feeling, a sorrow but wondrous joy. To some love is an art, bending, using whatever you have at your disposal, manipulating the structure of other's hearts. But to a few it's a lifestyle, they live and breathe in love. Their minds drown in the longing to hold something they have never once touched.
Oh, how heart wrenching it is to one's mind to be utterly engulfed in such chaos and strife that is love. To the artisans of love, to the cravers of heart and mind, I wish you luck because I am beside myself.
How does one love without suffering a great cost of one's soul? Each spoken whisper leads to a dance more sickening than death. Each shaky, heated breath leads to an understanding of culpableness that I am equally to blame. But how, I pray, how might I live a love more magnificent than the beating in my chest and the fire rushing through my veins.
Day and night, I call out in hushed whispers against the daunting starlit sky. I pray and sing for a love greater than life itself but all I've known thus far is the dispiriting coldness within my bones. And along with the changing of seasons I realized my heart was turning bitter with the perishing leaves of Autumn. Each passing moment I dreamed of this love, leaving the lie that was once us for a deeper understanding of what can be and what should be.
Days grew colder within my home and lifeless trees swayed within the wind of death. Hopeless, I wandered on through the streets of despair and deals of lies. This place was no stranger to me and the people I knew well. Their hearts bore calluses of deceit, wilting gradually with each breath. I watched as their dreams and aspirations turned to dust. On my journey I met a man whose eyes rivaled that of any evergreen tree, whose voice rattled to souls of the damned, and the mere mention made people gaze upon him either in veneration or ferocity.
I knew this was a man who walked not only in the light but bathed in the darkness of night. My eyes gazed at him in fascination, his laugh seemed genuine, but this was a street of lies. I watched his mirth turn to cries of irritation as a pearl wristlet broke about into fragments. Quickly I went to pick up the pieces, placing them upon his hand but so rapidly they turned to dust. His eyes casted downwards as the particles caught in the air but as he glanced up to meet my eyes, I experienced something that I hadn't felt in so long. The love of life and the life of love. At this moment, I knew I had undergone a love greater than life itself and I promise you it is what can be and what should've been.
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Personal Literature
RandomI use writing as an outlet when I'm feeling negatively. This is to store all my pieces and maybe it will inspire you to help navigate through your emotions using outlet writing.
