Shrivelled Love

For those silly little moments in love that leave us feeling a little broken and a little alive at the same time.

I want a kind beautiful love and what I have with him is neither kind nor beautiful….not even in a twisted way. We are not tortured for love, and we have never bled for it either. We just like to think we have.  Every day is a miracle and a burden, and as I sit here listening to the most beautiful song by Bon Iver, I can’t help but notice we are all singing our own songs.  Everyone likes to think of themselves as victims of love, and singing these songs keeps us glued to the moments that have fractured our souls; starting from our bones to our hearts that beat to the rhythm of pain. Beautiful. That is what it means to be human I guess.  The love that keeps us alive, slowly shrivels into a wounded soul that is desperate to be rescued by faith.  Faith for the perfect little pebble that skips in the pond of our hearts; the little pebble that makes us whole and fills in the emptiness that is meant to be filled by this supposed love. You were supposed to be my pebble and I yours.  Instead, we broke, and crushed each other until we turned into dust. But this is not what it’s all about; at least that is what I am told.

I am not tortured by your love nor am I freed by it. I am stuck in the middle without the grace of your presence or your absence. Is this what it is to be? Freed by love but imprisoned by moments of insecurity and fear? Maybe. This is what it means to be beautiful though; the imperfection that imprints the little thoughts and feelings that bleeds into our skins. This is beautiful. I guess in our own little silly way we are beautiful, and maybe we have sunk so deep into this cruel big world that we have forgotten what it is to be.