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If I close my eyes tight enough I can still see him standing there

Though the scenery is the same, everything is altered, like a Dali painting

Drooping carelessly, blurring all the lines

The comforting eyes, once filled with Joy

Now meet me with a steely gray, indifferent gaze

Glazed over with a proper dose of Reality, and a dash of Bitterness

Eyes, sewn shut under your veil of Fear

Lips, once entwined with the restless passion of a lifetime

Of lifetimes wanting, waiting, doing without

How it hurts to love — but the singeing does not stop with the heart. It reaches deeper, down into every cell, twisting it’s way around each one so carefully they no longer remember their function.

How it hurts more to lose — but there can be no other way as Lover’s are not meant to crash & burn into nothingness after finding one another. That is not a Love meant to exist in this world. Another perhaps, but this Soul is too young to know.

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The crushing pain that is to remember — those stolen moments, sacred, urgent and fueled by a burning desire unmatched by any other fantasy one could have dreamt up.

True fantasy is not what you have imagined, because our minds make up too many details. Your immature mind thought it was all about the wrong things. When a Soul touches another, it anchors it into itself, wrapping it in like a warm blanket, stretched tightly, twisting & turning upon itself until it has worn the threads bare.

Those that remain holding on still are the strongest.

Those details that your naive mind thought would matter, don’t. Everything is about the feelings, too intense to fight, they have captured your very Essence and sealed it up in a jar. The highs make you so giddy, you cry out to your own self, in a hapless, helpless defense.

You can stand no chance against This.

The lows — make you want to sell your soul off to the Devil himself, but for one more chance to feel that way again. Your attempts to savor are in vain, for as soon as it is gone, you are left again — grasping at flimsy straws to build your house.

You try again — you will figure out how to lasso this, how to make it last. You fail, time after time.

You can will Love into Being in some cases, but you can not harness the power to keep it.

You say Goodbye to it, and you start building the vessel. Each plank is carefully placed, one by one, pulled wickedly from your bruised heart. By sheer will you make more planks and keep building.

You wrap it up in a brilliant white silk sheet, you gently and tenderly lay your Love in that boat you have created. Your tears leave tiny streaks on the delicate fabric. With the gentlest of touches, and one last caress of your fingers, you push the boat from shore.

You say goodbye to your Heart, and your Soul grows that much older.

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Originally published at on October 24, 2015.

Written by

Holes and a series of rabbits — my debut poetry collection — now available!

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