He loved her.
With a devotion that was undying, unending, and unyielding.
It was an undoubtable fact of his soul.
He could not fathom a world where he was without her.
In a thousand universes, he would always be hers.
In a thousand realms, she would never be his.
And yet he endured.
Continued to love.
Continued to be spurned.
And yet he smiled.
Laughing when she brought him down.
Pretending each spiting comment didn't decimate his whole being.
Convincing himself that this was what love was like.
His devoutness was almost blinding.
Vision clouded with her cherry blossom tint.
She remained ambivalent.
Always acting like a fool, she mentioned.
And yet he smiled.
Continued to love.
Continued to be spurned.
And for what reasons, others pondered.
Would be worth the heartache, the humiliation, the constant rejections?
Did it matter she wanted another?
Was it ever enough for him?
How many times could a single person break your heart before it was enough?
Their words ruminated in his head.
Rewind.
Repeat.
As many times as you'll let them, he thought.
Inspired by a reddit comment made by /u/TheReigningSupreme in September, 2013:
It had been one month.
I remember her words very clearly, the bitterness that escaped her tongue and the hate in her tone: "I don't even understand why I put up with you anymore." I had heard an inner voice ask myself the same thing, but it then replied: "because you love her."
One month of loneliness, of solitude, of seeing her live her life as mine was cast in shadows and darkness. I saw her enjoy her day and night, without any kind of injury, and here I was in agonizing heart pain. Was I really that toxic? Did she really not love me anymore?
Every day, I watched, for one month. And then, I read a question inscribed into a tree outside my door: "how many times can a single person break your heart?"
I grabbed a knife, and went outside and began to write away. "As many times as you'll let them."
