"What you know you can't explain, but you feel it. You've felt it your
entire life, that
there's something wrong with the world. You don't know what it is, but it's there, like a
splinter in your mind, driving you mad." - Morpheus, The Matrix
*
It's weird, you get so used to a guy-any guy- and you couldn't let him go! Not for the life of you. He could be terrible, and horrid to you and treat you like dirt, but you would love him. Because you wouldn't know anything but!
Such is the case.
When you're young you have this romantic idea that you will not put up with anyone who hurts you or treats you badly in any way. You simply will not stand to be treated that way. Because, no doubt, you deserve to be treated better. But when you get older, you realize that sometimes it is the people that you love and admire who hurt you the most. It is the people that you love who make you hurt so bad that you ponder why on earth you liked them to begin with. It is the people you love who make the sweetness all the more sweet, and the bitterness all the more bitter.
And you realize, because you were not just dumped off the turnip truck, that sometimes love is cruel. Yet, it is never ugly. Love is beautiful, and painful, harsh, and raw. And unforgiving. It 'is' the salt and lemon juice poured on to the open wound. It is that extra sip of whisky when you've already been drunk for the last twenty. It is that last goodbye.
Love will kill you, and the evil part is that you can never kill it first. Because you'll always lose. You will always crumble. You will always throw yourself at the ground, and you will never be aware. For in a time where love, however existent is also fake, there was once a time that it was sweet and ripe.
But not for me anymore, my love is now gone. He will be gone forever, because that is the way of life. Nothing lasts forever. Things grow- things live-things flourish-things die. And you are left with simply what could have been, contrasted with what is. But you wish it wasn't so.
You always wish it wasn't so.
Pain is evident and coldness is abundant. And yet, you love him, because you've never known anything but. You knew, from the start that love would hurt you in the end. And yet that never stopped you from loving with all of your tiny little heart. You wouldn't have it any other way.
He lived for you. You lived for him.
You would have given him your last breath. You would have given him that last kiss as the world ended. You would have given him your heart. Ironically so, you did.
You, no doubt, were young then. And then youngness was your painful excuse of ignorance and naivety. In this relationship, only one person flourished and grew: Him. Only one person got what they wanted: Him. And yet two people all the same were involved. And yet, two people shared that last sip of whisky. Two people shared that last kiss as the world came to a screeching halt. But one person wanted to take back her heart, and he wouldn't let her because it was already his to manipulate. It was already his to control and distort, and in all honesty, it had always been his.
You know when love gets tough is when you realize that you gave too much. And then you realize that, in giving so much, you made a mistake. But by this mistake was how the flower bloomed and how the sun came out. It was how he wanted it. It couldn't be anything different.
He really wasn't terrible; I can't bring myself to say that. Because in my mind it feels like I couldn't have fallen for someone terrible and heartless. I *didn't* fall for someone terrible and heartless. He was a sweetheart, because in my mind that was what I wanted. His blond wispy hair always fell into his pale face. And his eyes looked at you in this way that made your spine shiver and your whole body flinch.
And as he sat there and looked at me and said, "Hey Ginger (his cute little pet name for me, he always thought Ginny was a tad boring-) can you hand me a chocolate frog?"
Obediently, I'd pass one to him and he'd wink and say, "Thanks."
Then he'd go back to looking at me with those silvery blue eyes of his.
"Tell me," I told him clutching my scarlet pillow, "-why you love me."
It's as though, by the minute, he was examining my heart in his pale hands. And in those hands, my heart was held. My most precious possession, the thing that made me me. The thing that never should've been given. And he held it, and he would toss it from one hand to another. It was bleeding, and it was shivering in this cold way that practically begged him to manipulate it all the more. He looked at his hands though, and they did not show the blood. Although his very hands had been holding my heart. He never tossed it back.
I never wanted it to be tossed back.
I needed him like a fish needs water. Like a bird needs a nest. Like a book needs pages. Like a person needs love.
Like the night sky needs the stars.
Like Heaven needs earth.
Like I needed you, and you didn't need me.
there's something wrong with the world. You don't know what it is, but it's there, like a
splinter in your mind, driving you mad." - Morpheus, The Matrix
*
It's weird, you get so used to a guy-any guy- and you couldn't let him go! Not for the life of you. He could be terrible, and horrid to you and treat you like dirt, but you would love him. Because you wouldn't know anything but!
Such is the case.
When you're young you have this romantic idea that you will not put up with anyone who hurts you or treats you badly in any way. You simply will not stand to be treated that way. Because, no doubt, you deserve to be treated better. But when you get older, you realize that sometimes it is the people that you love and admire who hurt you the most. It is the people that you love who make you hurt so bad that you ponder why on earth you liked them to begin with. It is the people you love who make the sweetness all the more sweet, and the bitterness all the more bitter.
And you realize, because you were not just dumped off the turnip truck, that sometimes love is cruel. Yet, it is never ugly. Love is beautiful, and painful, harsh, and raw. And unforgiving. It 'is' the salt and lemon juice poured on to the open wound. It is that extra sip of whisky when you've already been drunk for the last twenty. It is that last goodbye.
Love will kill you, and the evil part is that you can never kill it first. Because you'll always lose. You will always crumble. You will always throw yourself at the ground, and you will never be aware. For in a time where love, however existent is also fake, there was once a time that it was sweet and ripe.
But not for me anymore, my love is now gone. He will be gone forever, because that is the way of life. Nothing lasts forever. Things grow- things live-things flourish-things die. And you are left with simply what could have been, contrasted with what is. But you wish it wasn't so.
You always wish it wasn't so.
Pain is evident and coldness is abundant. And yet, you love him, because you've never known anything but. You knew, from the start that love would hurt you in the end. And yet that never stopped you from loving with all of your tiny little heart. You wouldn't have it any other way.
He lived for you. You lived for him.
You would have given him your last breath. You would have given him that last kiss as the world ended. You would have given him your heart. Ironically so, you did.
You, no doubt, were young then. And then youngness was your painful excuse of ignorance and naivety. In this relationship, only one person flourished and grew: Him. Only one person got what they wanted: Him. And yet two people all the same were involved. And yet, two people shared that last sip of whisky. Two people shared that last kiss as the world came to a screeching halt. But one person wanted to take back her heart, and he wouldn't let her because it was already his to manipulate. It was already his to control and distort, and in all honesty, it had always been his.
You know when love gets tough is when you realize that you gave too much. And then you realize that, in giving so much, you made a mistake. But by this mistake was how the flower bloomed and how the sun came out. It was how he wanted it. It couldn't be anything different.
He really wasn't terrible; I can't bring myself to say that. Because in my mind it feels like I couldn't have fallen for someone terrible and heartless. I *didn't* fall for someone terrible and heartless. He was a sweetheart, because in my mind that was what I wanted. His blond wispy hair always fell into his pale face. And his eyes looked at you in this way that made your spine shiver and your whole body flinch.
And as he sat there and looked at me and said, "Hey Ginger (his cute little pet name for me, he always thought Ginny was a tad boring-) can you hand me a chocolate frog?"
Obediently, I'd pass one to him and he'd wink and say, "Thanks."
Then he'd go back to looking at me with those silvery blue eyes of his.
"Tell me," I told him clutching my scarlet pillow, "-why you love me."
It's as though, by the minute, he was examining my heart in his pale hands. And in those hands, my heart was held. My most precious possession, the thing that made me me. The thing that never should've been given. And he held it, and he would toss it from one hand to another. It was bleeding, and it was shivering in this cold way that practically begged him to manipulate it all the more. He looked at his hands though, and they did not show the blood. Although his very hands had been holding my heart. He never tossed it back.
I never wanted it to be tossed back.
I needed him like a fish needs water. Like a bird needs a nest. Like a book needs pages. Like a person needs love.
Like the night sky needs the stars.
Like Heaven needs earth.
Like I needed you, and you didn't need me.