Deadlock.

A Poem by rodrigogour

When love dies, does it do so gradually or all at once?

Almost everything changes, even the truth, but honesty must be always unwavering. Something that is true today might not be tomorrow, but that doesn’t mean that it gets a free pass for not being as real as it was the day before.

Silence will inevitably asphyxiate a soul.

Being as relentlessly true to oneself as the human body allows is the only way to truly be as happy as one ought to be. Yet, our desire to be forgiven is often shrouded by our own pride, and we cannot accept facts as they are. We embellish them in our favor, always blaming someone else for the things our mind can’t process we did. Whether it be shame or plain indifference, we tend to take a lot of time to accept the fact that we were wrong from the get go.

People try to find absolution only when the mind can no longer be still, only when the waves of remorse clash harshly against the walls of our serenity. Regret leads to forgiveness, but forgiveness never leads to regret; it’s a one way street that leads to the candid peace of mind we will probably never find, even thought we will never stop looking for it.

But there are times, extraordinary times, when a resolution cannot be reached. When the body has been hurt so many times that it is impossible for the brain to accept the fault in our actions, whether they were our own wrongdoings or foreign attacks against our body and mind. The brain snaps and the rage that has been silently gathering inside our souls explode like a volcano of despair and bottled-up raw emotions.

When love dies, does it do so gradually or all at once? Is there a specific moment in time and space, a precise moment of absolute clarity that marks the death of an emotion? Was it because some choices were made that altered the emotional stream that the relationship navigated, or because something so unfathomable happened that split that life wave into two?

Some people say that love never truly dies, they say that it transforms into something else, a variation of the same emotion but without the intensity that it once entailed. Perhaps it’s true, perhaps once you feel something for another person then it can never go away.

Well, I can prove them wrong.

I’ve rummaged my mind for a very long time trying to find the right words to describe the aftermath of our goodbye, or when it truly happened. I can’t recall the last time I silently told you that I loved you, or even the last time I saw it mirrored in your eyes. I saw the signs of death all around the choices we were making and we both knew that it was inevitable, even if we didn’t really want it to end. The pain had been too much, and in retrospect, I believe you understood that the pain you had inflicted upon me had been too much and in a burst of regret, you transferred some of it towards you in order to ease mine. I know you did, because I did the same.

We hurt each other countless times, in different ways and varying intensities. It happened so fast; I know it wasn’t intentional. We both wanted what we could take out of a dried-up well, and in order to obtain it, we severed the line that kept us afloat.

I can’t possibly remember the last time that we were whole, or the last time we could hold each other’s stare without guilt or shame, even the last time those three words sounded remotely sincere.

Love died, and it took us forever to notice.

As humans we adapt so comfortably to our own routines, so any derailment that causes us to lose a straight line is met with an unpleasant vexation. Trust begins to falter after the first couple of lies, and soon the presence that once gave us comfort is transformed into a state of complete and utter exasperation.

I stayed with you because I liked the person I’d become in your company, not because you deserved it, and I know that you thought the same way about me too. Soon, our pleasantries felt sardonic and hollow, our touch was poisonous and the air we breathed was almost toxic. Love had died, and it was infecting the last traces of affection we had for one another.

I don’t know exactly what was the original crippling blow, I can’t even remember when it happened, but I remember how the life of something that had started so strong began to dwindle under our skins, faintly gasping for air and trying to wiggle its way out and into oblivion.

We were determined to keep it inside us for as long as we could, because neither of us wanted to absorb the blame of splitting up. We were at a deadlock, and nothing could ever make us yield. For my part, I know I would’ve rather died than accept the fact that we were over, and I could sense that you were thinking the same thing.

The truth had changed, and we weren’t being honest with one another. I wish I could remember the reasons that made me fall in love with you originally, maybe if we searched for them one more time things would've turned out differently. But anger does as it must, and it corrodes the simple premise of logical reasoning: it just wants to lash out in order to replenish itself. Sometimes it is born so strong that it almost creates a life if its own, it transforms the host into a monster that does not know mercy or reason. It attacks, and most of the time the only victim is itself.

I don't love you anymore, but perhaps I never did. The few times we've met since it died, I feel guilty because I feel nothing, and that same nothingness makes me numb. I try to remember the warmth of your embrace or the light behind your smile, but I can only remember the conviction I felt at the end, the dire need to have enough strength to win the last match of the painful game.

Sometimes I feel that I have never met love, and maybe that is my brain's way of protecting me against the harshest of truths. Maybe I have stared at love directly into its eyes and I have seen the ferocious capacity of doom it can unleash, and hopefully, with a little bit of luck and brains, maybe next time we won't let it win.