The Canary's Tears

Youthful codependent love.

The impending possibility of a bomb of intense emotion ready to decimate the very foundation you stand upon was the reality of our relationship. The perfect balancing act of rejection, jealousy, love, empathy, and innocence. I once thought was love. An unforgiving and careful walk along spikes of emotional vindictiveness. Ready at any moment to defend my importance and reason for being. Until I finally misstepped and was shattered by the pain that would pierce my soul and body.

At first, I wondered why such sheer emotional pain existed in such metaphysical ideas as love. Then I realized I was set free. Set free by the toxicity and untrue nature of our relationship. A one-sided self-deprecating experience that intertwined our lives. Somehow all led by the empathy and understanding of the tragedy that affected our memories. Once set free, the world became less bleak and dangerous; it was wondrous, freeing, and exquisitely open. It’s raw beauty unhinged by nature’s purity. Relationships began to realign, while some were forever weathered by the storm I brought into my world. I quickly learned that storms aren’t meant to have reparations that follow. Accepting destruction is the only step in rebuilding another. One learns in such times of desperation that sitting in your decimation is the only way for others to come and visit. There’s too much interest in something so defeated and inhumane.

In mourning, you quickly lose the appreciation for love and instead dwell on the fiery blood that attempts to soothe your mind. You learn that souls so broken by love and loss are met by the fate of time. They teach you to allow your prejudice and arrogance to subside as the world becomes a chasm of tranquility. Things you never uttered with sincerity, but innocence become the fruits of your presence. They swell and overtake your life with the quick swift of a blade that doesn’t pierce with a vengeance but with understanding and duality. Blades no longer act as daggers ready to leave you bloodless but to replenish what they once so brutally took. Your daggers shatter into colorful stars, and the sun no longer burns your flesh but kisses your skin with the most delicate touch. The shaded moon no longer speaks to you in the darkest hue. But acts as a lighthouse to the inner beauty of the human experience.

The world catches on fire, blazed by passion, until the embers sizzle down and reveal the approach of day. Acting as the intrepid nature of expedient compassion. To be reignited with such fiery, birthed intimacy prophesied by a martyr just to be extinguished by the forthcoming past that refuses to be brought to shore by the relentless waves of newfound self-discovery. A constant battle of adultery and purity that has defined the ageless romantics and poets. Rages on.

The poet becomes the master and no longer ponders on ideas unknown but is able to paint the thoughts that once were only unpronounceable fantasies in the most profound of dreams. Dreams intoxicate the mind with such sheer force that one can only shudder in awe of the inept ability to explain such potent emotion. You then wonder why you describe something so raw with such a negative connotation. Only to realize that you are still haunted by the ideas you once upheld as holy, struggling to hold on to the slipping rope you now hold. The rope doesn’t beseech you but is getting tired of your white knuckle grip. You hold on with a force only the gods of Greek could proclaim. Blurring the lines of humanity and divinity. Proceeding with the triumphant trumpets and distorted drums, you shrink into the microcosm anomaly that is impassioned love.

Art is no longer seen as a pagan idea but one that is uprooted in the idea of man. This art form you mistake as feeling is desired by every living creature. Even the canary, which weeps at every moment of desperation, gazed at the crying sky. Lying in its tears, drinking from its blood. The sky opens up and drowns the world in its sorrows. Entering the void and refusing to allow followers into its self-indulgent affair.