Peering into old wounds to find where wisdom rests
consolation for the broken-hearted
When we met at this park a year ago, I hated you with half my heart and wanted you back with the other. It was a toss-up between falling to my knees if you told me to or spitting in your face if we held eye contact for too long.
My heart lived in the prison of our connection for so long that it became my home. When I fought to lose it, I forgot that would mean losing a part of myself with it. I found myself digging through the belongings of who I was before you, trying to find the original piece that went missing. But that piece was as distant from me as it was ingrained into my being.
I never lost my love for you or outgrew it. I tried convincing myself I did by putting other people in your place and making my dreams about anyone but you. How foolish of me to think that I could ever erase the mark you left on my heart. It is because of the anguish and awakening that you brought upon me that I found my way, not despite it.
Without the clouded judgment of my unresolved pain, the memories we made are clearer to look back on. I can finally recall our everyday conversations, how we spent hours making each other laugh. Bitterness had fogged my vision with signs of cruelty that were no more than juvenile mistakes. I was so consumed by the agony you put me in that I never stopped to think about how you did not introduce me to suffering but drew it out of the depths I had buried it in.
Look, I was a fool for ignoring the scars you bear from our fate-driven passion. If I saw you again, the first thing I would do is look at your neck to humble the part of me that made me forget I also drew blood.
(I would still think of spitting on you)
(I am a rough lover, you know this)
You were the object of my anger since it was easier to blame you than to realize the role I played in our breaking apart. I painted a picture of our relationship that was missing color because that would show the bright reds my hands were covered in.
I know it is past asking for forgiveness. The window of our time has closed in this life, but when I see you in the next, I will embrace your flaws as you did mine.
In the end, falling out of love is not dramatic. It is not a linear path that points you in the direction of wise choices. It is messy, embarrassing, enlightening, and necessary. Your feelings do not dissipate as time passes as much as they grow soft and quiet. Their touch is still there, but they do not send a shocking chill down your spine when someone mentions the person they belonged to in conversation. The growth that comes from escaping the claws of romance is not in the disappearance of all affection toward a lover but in the placing of past experiences in every corner of your body so you remember to love more and hurt less.
The answers to the questions you plead for during a period of heartbreak are only visible when you are far away enough to see their meaning in the grand tapestry of your existence. But this distance is never achieved by force or by sheer willingness. Only through befriending the passage of time will you understand that the threads of your destiny are not dictated by the actions you take but by feelings you unearth from them.
wow.
perfectly woven