“This is how I fall apart,”
he spoke through tears that fell alive.
“I’ve ****** myself right from the start,
and to it, turned a blinded eye.
The choices made,
each self-denial,
each lie believed,
each truth denied,
have all had hand in my undoing.
For this, I myself despise.”
He turned to me with joy and sorrow;
such depth of sorrow in his eyes,
smiled a smile of pain and loss,
then turned his gaze upon the sky.
On what he pondered, naught I know,
as fresher tears sustained his cry.
Then, with a sigh, he dared to sing,
as broken heart and soul combined.
“Love has been a bitter poison,
but one I drink so well.
Wanting but a sip of heaven,
imbibing naught but hell.
This love in me may be too strong
for anyone to claim.
Yet, still I dare to let it thrive,
with none but self to blame.
My heart doth fall too easily
for those I cannot hold.
Emotions far too deep in me
refuse to loose their hold.
This love, so unrequited,
crying out to be set free,
drowns me in such sorrow,
‘til the day such love can be.”
He then turned eyes upon me,
seeking naught but understanding.
Again, his voice rang out,
in clarity devoid of ranting:
“This love that I so long for
will not let my hope subside.
‘Tis hope of love that chains me,
killing what it keeps alive.”
On this, his gaze retreated,
as if ghosts paraded there.
He smiled again betwixt his tears,
in joy and in despair.
In hearing, now, I understood…
he felt the same as me.
Such pain had long been buried,
now demanding to be free.
“I would not trade one smile
that I’ve been blessed with on the way,
though such smiles not long lingered,
fueling naught but my decay.
To feel such love for someone,
each day deepened and renewed,
is beautiful,
yet torture,
when not mutual and true.”
Again, he paused to gather thought,
or maybe to decipher,
as sorrow seemed to loose its clutch,
yet somehow grip him tighter.
Such agony and joy,
as with the truth, he came to terms;
his triumphs and his failures
emphasizing every word.
“I’ve given all for love
I’ve never had returned to me.
In doing so,
I’ve lost out on most all my life could be.
In sacrificing everything,
I’ve sacrificed my all,
leaving nothing but this loneliness
which always comes to call.
Although I hold to hope,
I find I deem myself a fool,
for my doubts and imperfections
cause my fears to overrule.
I fall apart much more each day
in body and in mind,
with depression, pain, forgetfulness
taking pieces at a time.
Therein lies my torment.
What I hope for cannot be.
So lost to self and broken…
who could love a mess like me?
If I can’t love myself,
how will I find true love at all?
Of this, I have convinced myself,
and still to hope I fall.”
My tears now fell amidst his own,
as with this truth we coped.
So hopeful in our hopelessness;
so hopeless have we hoped,
believing we will never find
the love we’re longing for,
while fighting with ourselves
through living hell for something more.
“Maybe, one day love will find
it’s broken as are we,”
I said as I embraced him,
drawing his pain into me,
“and from that day,
such love will help us love ourselves again,
and we’ll return such love in kind,
as lovers, and as friends.”
Through our tears, I heard us cry,
“How can such come to be?
Just how can someone love us
if our love for self can’t be?”
Swiftly we did answer,
in belief and in denial,
“She may feel the same as I,
searching for me all the while.”
In this, my halves became a whole;
so whole, and yet, so broken,
believing and denying
everything I’ve sung and spoken,
hoping despite hopelessness
true love will one day win.
It’s too often hard believing
that it isn’t “if”, but “when”.