Coming to My Senses

random thoughts channeled into the new age form of writing

As I grow further from the past, and the selfish ways I left there, I realize more and more the most desirable feelings and relationships that I have both destroyed and missed entirely the experiences of. I was so naive and unsure of myself (not that I have dismissed these flaws - rather, they have developed into different beasts altogether) that I was unable to see or understand the truth, or to appreciate the beautiful moments in life that I had once grasped firmly onto. 

Love is one such moment, a moment that stretches on into the breadth of eternity, forever expanding, forever existing. It is the type of moment that is incomprehensible to one's self, yet is relished and held onto with an equally unintelligible desperation. I once experienced such a love, and as it exists in my past it will always exist in my present and my future. This true love happened to be of a false subject, and led to the merciless slaughter of my innocent and perpetually devoted heart. It happened I had fallen in love with the concept of a girl, of my own perceptual creation, rather than the true identity of herself. This virulent love has long rotted away at my insides and has taunted me, leaving the shadows of self-doubt to fill in what holes heartbreak has dug into my soul. The love has long abandoned my heart now; there is, however, a part of love that never dies, that never diminishes in strength, that never is there found a replacement for. This love is the love that I hate.

My naive devotion autonomously forged forward, lead and motivated by its own existence, and has dragged my body throughout the entirety of this experience. Stretched so thin, it appears to me that I no longer carry the strength to ever encounter such an evil and benevolent thing as love; yet the part of me that speaks the least and has the most important advice to offer demands of me that I muster myself and allow the ruins and rubble of my former being to be the foundation upon which I rebuild this tattered and meaningless personality.

It is with uncertainty that I make the smallest step forward - into the vulnerability of human emotion.