I keep track of all the days in between; the ones when you don’t say you love me. And during those days, my heart beats a little less enthusiastically, the sighs are a little longer, and my shoulders slump a little more. Sometimes the longing and the aching can be almost unbearable. But then I think back to all the times when those three little words were never spoken at all; all those years filled with such a lonely longing in my chest. I know I will never be in that place again because you always remind me of that with your steadfast presence every day. And when that realization hits me, that you’re not leaving me, I’m finally able to stop myself from falling, cradling my mind, and finding comfort in my own embrace. It’s in that nurtured state that I somehow find a way to let go of the demons which harbor my weary discontent. And eventually, that nagging feeling starts to evaporate, disintegrating bit by bit in every relaxing exhale, calming a little more in every deep breath. I’m never quite the same, though, as my own strength can never carry me all the way through. And so I wait patiently until you’re here again, reminding me that love is more than words. But because you know I need to hear it, you expose your stubborn soul to me, finally giving in to my neediness. And that’s when my heart explodes in reassured joy because your loving words mean everything to me. And even though I already know you love me, the reminder frees my soul and refuels my spirit.
Amid the chaos of our cluttered world, sometimes we have only but a past moment, something distinctly different from all the other colorless days. And that one solitary moment, the one we treasure with fondness and love gives us something to cling to when we can no longer see a single thread of light. Those rare moments exist to reassure us during the times when the dark dares to snuff out our light. That one blessed memory is often what unexpectedly sees us through.
Love can make a person crazy. One moment we can be flying high as a kite in bliss-filled folly, and the next, be stuck knee-deep in the fast forming muck of dolor. Mostly makes me wonder, is there ever an end? Even though I already suspect I know the answer, I’ve still never figured out how to live with the tragedies of love. I just continue to remain tangled up in all the delights and despairs, entertaining the knock of love whenever it happens to find me. Seems like I would’ve learned my lesson by now, but I guess that just shows the true value of love. It’s worth more than any cost we could ever bear. So we open our arms to it, time and time again, hoping that someday happiness will come along instead of dismay.
It’s easy to relinquish those timeless devotions when disappointments become standard issue, and the old familiar stack of unexpected surprises becomes a thing of the past.
It’s easy to disregard anything that stops feeling like home because the heart can’t reside in hollowed out places, and it needs a strong binding to keep it grounded aside a meaningful attachment.
Intrinsic to human nature, it’s easy to surrender compulsion when magnetic forces end up misaligned; the resistance is a force of nature that cannot be manipulated, for it goes against the natural law.