I’ve found and lost the most perfect love. All in the space of three days I flew to Himalayan highs and descended to abysmal lows. Then with a breeze I smiled and moved on. Even the most seemingly perfect dies when it is lifted to reality.
Another soul brushed so close to mine I shook. I heard, I felt, I saw when my eyes were firmly shut. I was ready to reach out; I was almost ready to believe. For a moment I froze, unable to move, standing to watch what would happen. I let myself be captured and mesmerized forever. In another time and place, maybe even on another plane, this man would have been perfect for me. He would have whispered sweet words only to me. He would have composed sweet melody only for me. He would have carried me in the palm of his hands. I would have created pages and pages for only him. I would have shown him all that I have secretly done for him. He would have wanted to make me laugh. I would have wanted to cry each time he had to take leave and journey back to his world. We would have dreamt separate only to conjoin at the end.
The irony of love is that it continually evades perfection. Expectations high, mercilessly waiting, evil resolutely holding its grip on the thinnest fracture appearing in the foundations. And then like a hermit I hide again, afraid that my heart could not withstand another love’s deadly clench. It would die like in the hands of the one before. I would cringe to a foetal position if he left, exactly as with the one before. Broken and wounded I would drag my lifeless dream behind me and he would no longer see, just like the one before did never see. I would build everything up again, learn to go on without him, learn to let the yearning subside and watch as he waves goodbye. I would die again and again like in the hands of the one before.
This perfect love never was, but he is already gone. I could not have bore to loose him to any other woman but her. Now I know that they are a two in perfect harmony. Two beautiful people, two beautiful lives, making beautiful dreams come alive. Sensitive to the cruelness of the world, open eyed about the injustices, careful with the words they let fly into the sky. Love sleeps tangled with them and gently releases its power that sedates them into forever holding dear the potency of creation. I understand. I take my weak heart and treasure it for someone else.
Then I step out of this dream and watch as the world spins madly on.
1 comment:
Thousands of times, i have felt something like that. It's a complex feeling, though, I have had the fragments of it you mention.
The most important lines for me:
"He would have wanted to make me laugh." Yes, and I also want someone to cry together with me, even if no one else knows what the hell I am crying about... Just so, crying over the cruelty of life.
"The irony of love is that it continually evades perfection." Why search perfection then? Why try to be perfect? I have been trying to accept my being imperfect, and realized this was my only chance to survive. It was the last second for me to give up perfection. No doubt, there is perfection, but it will come without any search, if I keep my mind as clean as I can, and humble...
"Now I know that they are a two in perfect harmony." - is what most hurts, yet, it is just my being humble again, and belief that his happiness with someone else can bring spiritual energy to me as well. Let me be an egoist again, and believe that their happiness can feed my love for... someone else, believe that what I got from him, will give enough strenth to reach myself and this way, make myself accessible to someone who desires ME.
So you think the only thing you can do is "step out of this dream" and not just watch as the world madly goes by... But build up an own dream into which you can invite people to enter...
"Then with a breeze I smiled and moved on.", "flew to Himalayan highs and descended to abysmal lows". But isn't it how life goes? Ever! The easiest seems to be to get a love that goes the same. To get the insecurity it gives me the way it is. That's a love like I am, a love without perfection. It's my decision to accept it...
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