I Hate Love

I Hate Love

A Poem by Lane Craver
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Dancing Souls

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Love is such a strange emotion. It doesn't use logic when applied to the soul. I had love once upon a time. I buried it in a fire burning titanium box, wrapped in iron chains, locked with a skeleton key. It was buried beneath the dark cold rivers of black blood. The river so cold it would freeze an emotion if it got too close to the veins dark edge. The box and the river was encased in stone, acting as a shield from anything that could light a spark in the dark cold depths of the chained box, hidden and guarded so carefully. 
So why... why does this well hidden, well guarded spark feel like it is going to explode. 
You waved ever so gently in my direction to get my attention and I barely noticed. When my chaotic life settled enough to see your signal in the middle of the night, it made my heart jump in delight. But what did it mean? Another flirt, another passerby waving as they travel onwards in their plight? 
Another angle, another time, another try, another fright. 
Buried deep in my soul I have kept my spark from having light. I never want to feel such hurt again. The agony of betrayal sitting close to the surface of pain. To love again just doesn't seem right. Good morning to you is all I wrote in the ending of the dark night.
You answered with such sweet intentions, echoing the gentle nudge of the universe as the music plays softly, touching the dancing souls. Charming me with sweet nothings the spell started to weave. The spark ignited a small fire far deep inside of me, a fire not to be released, a fire about to take over the core of my soul's hidden desires. 
So why... why does this person have a hold over me.
Logic must be the answer. After all, what future could this possibly unfold? He is from the East side and I am on the West Coast. Long distance is fun for a while, but it can poof up in smoke. Haunted by romantic thoughts, I find myself, my mind, my soul, intertwined in this manifested fantasy. My brain pleads to be logical, to be understanding, to be cruel. 
Walk away, walk confidently, walk ever so slowly away.
The first time I walked away was the easiest. I should have kept going, saved myself the emotional toll. I reburied the chained box, I could tell, I was getting back to my old heartless self. Then out of the blue I get a whisper of a miscommunication, a blunder, of two people, two souls, losing their way in the night. A piece of heart was stolen, a piece of heart I will never get back. 
So why... why do I feel such emotions for such a musicians soul. 
We all know a musicians soul is only alive within the muse of their creation. They play the muse like a fine tuned instrument, playing them into the weave of the very fibers of their music. Guarded I must tread, guarded I must go, never to be fooled, cheapened, or misguided. A promise of mutual amusement was in the future, intrigued was my soul.
Pulled back, pulled back into a sticky web of emotions that should never exist. It was buried.
Longing for your attention, I reach out, knowing this will only scare you off. A pleasant reply was a surprise, maybe I was wrong, maybe I was off. A cruel brain whispers the obvious, never met, never talked, never video chat. A muse is all that I am, a muse is all I have to offer, so far, far away.
Love is so strange.
I hate love.
It is really just lust with a bunch of emotions thrown into it.

Ode to Vincent, the musicians soul who stole my heart to forever hold.

© 2021 Lane Craver


Author's Note

Lane Craver
Mushy I know-excuse grammar errors-rough draft, a muse, if you will

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Added on November 28, 2021
Last Updated on November 28, 2021
Tags: Souls, Connections, Love, Mushy, Poem

Author

Lane Craver
Lane Craver

Deep Volcano Valley, OR



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Adventurous mom, with big dreams more..

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