As a child, I’d read about epic adventures, tragic poems and love so true that it could burn cities with its power.
Solitary as I was, I thought that kind of love was some sort of obtainable superpower that— should I be deemed worthy of receiving it— would make my life whole. And in that understanding, it was obvious to me that I had to have pain, uncertainty, fear, occasional jealousy… and while those things didn’t define what love actually was (and they still don’t), I thought that was what made love beautiful. So real, so scary. Seizing your insides with full rawness.
Like Marianne Dashwood, I thought to myself: “Pathetic? To die for love? How can you say so? What could be more glorious?”, and I truly believed it. I still do.
Time went by, I grew older and started my very own ventures at loving people. I met pain up close, I felt raging jealousy take over me, I drifted away in that big ashen ocean of uncertainty and I never truly stopped being afraid. My heart hasn’t changed much, despite its (un)fortunate encounters, and I still place great value on experiencing the coarse, the profound.
But, I think, what makes love so magnificent is not the suffering, not the bruises, not the intense heart-wrenching sting inside of us. It’s our own willingness to go through that, our will to continue even when we know all those things are—and will be— involved.
It is a beautiful leap of, not faith, but awareness.
A black pit into which we dive because at the end of it, there is someone we care for.
And, in earnest stubbornness, we jump anyway.
She sits by the window, pale as the underside of a silverleaf
and stares through the glass to the memories, in ruins
the unkind promises that never were
has she ever been happy?
every day, she wonders
Day in and day out
consigning it all to oblivion
but remembering everyone
rising from her burial ground
Reminiscing about autumns now past
how she felt when smelling baked bread for the first time
how that kitten made her feel weak in new places
how every detail of life fascinated her
moved her to tears
each time, deeply and inevitably, she’d die
again and again
in a constant suicide
Such a tiny and frail little death
It is an odd thing, she mused
that despair could stun her
that pain should be for the living
for her, full of blood still
Any and all times her hopes were dashed
it was always an astonishment
Unfailingly, her heart was touched
and the woes, the hot rotted pains
those fleeting moments of bare translucency
they remind her she’s been here before
this revolution of blossom and gloom
of feelings and honest tempests
is her life
Through her open wound she is reborn
for as long as she throbs in anguish
she stops at nothing
This is how beautiful you are to me, didistarfish <3 Had you not been born, I would have drowned and withered a long time ago. Your tenderness has enabled me to feel and to love further than I ever thought possible (or healthy). Without knowing it, you have given me the best gift of all: you walk with me as we both learn how to love ourselves, thus allowing us to truly love others and to accept that we can be loved. I love you.
How dare you come now, after you trampled on my heart? How dare you try to redeem yourself through my newfound joy? Like somehow your taking part in my life now would rub away your wrongdoings; would paint your mask with my bliss and turn to vapor what has been done.
I may not be fearless, but you were wrong. I’ll keep this safe, and hiss and bite.
This is my happiness, and you shan’t come near it.
There are many things I cannot do. So many things that I am not.
Perhaps not too brave, not too bold, not too sane.
But all of that fades away with your smile, with the memory of those cream cheese cookies, those dark old clothes and my short hair in that very first picture we shared.
Not that I ever doubted the existence of this kind of love. Our undying connection and the outflowing concern for one another that pours out naturally and both ways… but, when you think about it, truly consider it: it’s kind of impossible; the stuff of books, of dreams. A tiny little pearl, hidden away in the depths of the ocean, unreachable.
But it’s not, it is here. In my chest, in my mind, in my tears, in the small comforts that remind me of you, each day. That smell of warm tea, the softness of yarn as I pull my fingers through it, this yearning to hear you laugh again.
On this day, when you came to this world, I was somewhere else. But I like to entertain the thought that, just as you were crying your lungs out for breath, maybe I cried too, in my crib far, far away. Maybe from that moment on, we were tied to each other, twins awaiting to happen.
My sister, whom I hold so dear, soul of my soul. A calm haven, a heart soother. Today I give you my gratitude. You have read the fine print within me, the whole of my pages, and without second thought embraced me. You’ve made me braver, aware that there are things we can and must fight for. A harbor where I can run aground on when I’m weary from battle.
Thank you. Everlastingly thank you. For your love without reserve. For your unrestricted words, your all out tenderness. For taking care of this heart, not with fear, but with kindness. Thank you, evermore, didistarfish <3