Love is a variable to which compared to chemistry, would feel like the cure for the common cold, but blow up in one's face like the Atom Bomb. The romantic in me wants to be the mushy, pitiful mess, always striving to win back the heart of a long-lost love. A psychological obsession that torments the soul. Granted the infatuation is what I could have, not what I used to have, but the pain is nominal, always there to pinch me into knowing when I was most happy, and that I'll never reach that peak again, no matter the amount of lovers I go through, no matter the number of partners I bed.
I had the closest thing to true love only once in my life. It was so brilliant, but for my partner, it was not nearly as young, as explosive an experience. That's a treacherous feeling, loving someone so intently, and not having that equal love returned. I know I'm the problem in that scenario, and I'm glad I have grown past it, but the scars I bare now are at a loss to a major part of my identity. Not because of a scorned lover, but because I no longer have that enraptured feeling to progress, but rather a lackluster emotional drain to stay bound to the ghosts of the past.
I've fucked up every relationship I had ever tried to create, with little fault on my partner's behalf. I've always felt like I was missing something, and tried to fill it with thoughts of raising a family, having a wife, and living out my golden years with the true love at my side, always lifting me up, and I doing equal, if not greater, for the cross women bear are strenuous to the insignificance men face in-terms of true struggle. Yes, I loved someone, far more than I probably can recall. I try as I might to let the past bury itself with my rationalization that I'm better off now, and yet my mind always tries to dig up those past desires, those past loves, as if today would be the same. Nostalgia is the trend of the times, but how I pain over the nostalgia of that tried and true emotion, encapsulating my heart with an outpour of undeniable love, it speaks fathoms to the depths of human emotion.
I know we all feel that way. I wish I could be with my ex one last time, mostly to finally slap the reality back into me that it would be for the worst. It ended for a reason, and that's when you realize that your identity becomes for them, and not for you. It's scary how much of ourselves we give up to the power of someone who rules the girth of our loins, just for some blanketed emotion. Yes, I am also a victim of Cupid's Arrow, accurately named for the amount of pain it causes you, and that unrelenting urge to look past what we know is going to be a train wreck, or look right into the eyes of the Devil himself.
I know I still, and sadly, always will love my ex, no matter the circumstance, it's a tragedy that haunts the best of us for the majority of our lives. The what ifs, the whys, the reason it went sour, and you're left with more questions that not even the answers to the universe are as complicated. Yet, we keep harming ourselves. Family and friends tell us to move on, others who show true compassion for us, and most likely would be better for us tell us to do better, because we apparently "deserve" it. Do we? Are we all really good guys, and really sweet girls? Do we always truly deserve better? Maybe we do, maybe we want more out of life, maybe we have greater desires. Maybe, our prince, or princess is out there, but in reality, if would be a true nightmare to get everything we ever desired.
I'm slated as a realist when it comes to these things: humans were designed by nature to be cheaters, but we were also designed by nature to eat mammoth meat, and dress in loin cloths. We can choose not to cheat, the same way we can choose to eat only organic, or only drive a hybrid vehicle, or just wear cotton clothing. The joke is, we rather do the "wrong" thing, and I'm fine with that.
Personally, I despise cheating, I'd never do it, even if the opportunity was knocking at my boxer briefs, but I refute it. I understand why people cheat, and that jealousy is also a survival trait, but we have proven as a species that we are more than our nature.
I miss my ex every so often, it used to be every single day, but I've grown over the years to let her go, but nearly a decade out from our split, I still find myself pining for her, even though she's not even the same person that I once held close. Don't let that sentiment sink in, I know a lot of the issues were caused by me as well, and I was far removed from fixing them at the time, but if I could go back and truly analyze just what the hell was going on back then, I'd have shaped up sooner.
So why should you care about my sour grape situation? Why listen to my whining about a forlorn lover lost to the sands of time, the dueling emotional struggle I contend with that for all incentive, aren't even true problems in this amalgamation of horseshit we call daily living? You're right, its not your problem to care about my former love, or my jaded heart, looking to rekindle what was lost, and failing pathetically at every gripping branch I reach to grasp before falling back into a pathetic, remorseful gripe.
You shouldn't care, and I respect that, I don't write this post for sympathy, or for explanation, or to be seen as someone who wants more than they deserve, or deserves something more than so many others want. No, I just know that I felt the need to write this all down. The loneliness gets tough, and the desire to be loved, and love someone, more importantly, someone in-particular; well, I guess it's therapeutic. I learned that it's okay to move on years ago, I just didn't realize until recently that also meant learning to find a new direction, to discover love in a way completely different than I've felt before, or else continually believing those grapes will always be sour.
To my ex, I know you perhaps despise me in your own way, I know you cannot understand my feelings, and it is not your fault for that, I know now there's nothing I could ever have done to fix what was wrong, because to you, there was nothing right about any of it. I doubt you'll ever come by this blog, seeing as you know who I am, who I was, for that matter. But if you ever come across this page, perhaps a morbid curiosity, or more by the random chances the internet envelops us all, know that I have given up on us, and I mean that with no ill-intent. I would've loved to have met you in a different time, a different place, I would've loved to have been all you ever wanted, but I've learned a while ago, years ago, I can never be that, but I accept my limitations, and I do so with no sense of embarrassment, or failure.
I wish you still nothing but the best, I hold no disdain for you, no malice, I never had. I know if we ever were to to meet up again, we have grown into two distinctly different people to what we once were. We are a history, strangers to each other in the present moment. You always were my Shakesperan Muse, and I was always your pain in the ass, but you somehow found a way to put up with my shenanigans and obscurity to see the real me deep down, behind all the barriers and falsities I encased myself. You knew me better than anyone, because you took the time to get to know me, rather than judge me from the start.
Perhaps we were only meant to spend a glimmer of time in each other's arms, and carry those memories forever, maybe the Spring was supposed to settle into a harsh winter, so warming memories were all we needed to keep up the fate that one day the cold would be just a whisper once again. Whatever "we" were, it's done, and it seems forever, and I've learned that's okay. I just hope one day I'll find you again, maybe in the next life I'll have learned from my mistakes, but if it takes a hundred more to get it right, I'm willing to give it a shot, if you'll meet me at the end of time.
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