Jun 2013
At this moment, going home to empty arms, I wonder at the transitory nature of “love.”
To strive, and seek, and never find that I have hoped for…it is…crushing.
How many times I can think, “This is what I have sought. This is what makes me happy.” And how many times I can be prey to cold hearts, and silent tongues.
And I wonder how many more before me have there been? I am tracing someone’s steps, but whose?
I have idealized my life, made it to a quest for kings of the heart, and my treasure beyond measure. And, always, I fall short.
And I wonder at the goal. What have I striven for, but an idea? What lies in wait at my quest’s end but another idea?
I am no sojourner, travelling towards that great city. I am no seeker with a guide and a legend. I am a lost soul, hungering after incorporeal meats.
I have read of great love, and I have known of truth and honor. I have known that sweet moment where all troubles are washed away. I have been looked upon with loving eyes and returned that gaze, in turn. And I have lied to myself and told this hollow shell that this is eternal. I have spun my webs, and stories; I have written my sonnets and songs. And another will come after me, and I will give him my ideas, and my hopes, and he will hunger, and be no better off than I.
So I will end this cycle of contempt. I will attest, now, to the nature of “love.” In my trials and tribulations, I have found no love from another. No emotion that will stand the sands of time and gleam. There is no hope for a romantic, only hopeless romantics, and we are doomed and hopeless. I…we…will spill our hearts to an open ear, and those notions will captivate a mind, for a minute. We will share our desires and our fears, and we will be used to reflect the desires and fears of others.
In our minds we hold high the great movers: Love and Fear. And we understand and embrace them. But this ignorant world, and the fools that roam it, will see what we know and will not understand. For in our travels, and in our lives, we have understood the deepest emotions, and know – for a certainty – that they do exist, and do strive on. But the power has been twisted and used and is feared for all the hurt it can cause.
So we are feared and twisted for the hurt we see, and know, in others.
Look into my eyes and tell me you cannot see a lifetime in them. Listen to my voice and tell me you do not hear the universe move behind my lips. Wrap yourself in my arms and tell me I cannot guard you against all you’ve ever feared.
But you will doubt. And you will fear. And you will tell yourself it cannot be.
And you will cheat me out of my nirvana because you will not admit that I can love beyond what you can. And you will cheat yourself out of your nirvana because you will not – ever – let another get as close to your heart as the one that hurt you.
I am not a hopeless romantic because I hope for a romance that will never come. I am a hopeless romantic because I hope for a romance that only I understand.
To strive, and seek, and never find that I have hoped for…it is…crushing.
How many times I can think, “This is what I have sought. This is what makes me happy.” And how many times I can be prey to cold hearts, and silent tongues.
And I wonder how many more before me have there been? I am tracing someone’s steps, but whose?
I have idealized my life, made it to a quest for kings of the heart, and my treasure beyond measure. And, always, I fall short.
And I wonder at the goal. What have I striven for, but an idea? What lies in wait at my quest’s end but another idea?
I am no sojourner, travelling towards that great city. I am no seeker with a guide and a legend. I am a lost soul, hungering after incorporeal meats.
I have read of great love, and I have known of truth and honor. I have known that sweet moment where all troubles are washed away. I have been looked upon with loving eyes and returned that gaze, in turn. And I have lied to myself and told this hollow shell that this is eternal. I have spun my webs, and stories; I have written my sonnets and songs. And another will come after me, and I will give him my ideas, and my hopes, and he will hunger, and be no better off than I.
So I will end this cycle of contempt. I will attest, now, to the nature of “love.” In my trials and tribulations, I have found no love from another. No emotion that will stand the sands of time and gleam. There is no hope for a romantic, only hopeless romantics, and we are doomed and hopeless. I…we…will spill our hearts to an open ear, and those notions will captivate a mind, for a minute. We will share our desires and our fears, and we will be used to reflect the desires and fears of others.
In our minds we hold high the great movers: Love and Fear. And we understand and embrace them. But this ignorant world, and the fools that roam it, will see what we know and will not understand. For in our travels, and in our lives, we have understood the deepest emotions, and know – for a certainty – that they do exist, and do strive on. But the power has been twisted and used and is feared for all the hurt it can cause.
So we are feared and twisted for the hurt we see, and know, in others.
Look into my eyes and tell me you cannot see a lifetime in them. Listen to my voice and tell me you do not hear the universe move behind my lips. Wrap yourself in my arms and tell me I cannot guard you against all you’ve ever feared.
But you will doubt. And you will fear. And you will tell yourself it cannot be.
And you will cheat me out of my nirvana because you will not admit that I can love beyond what you can. And you will cheat yourself out of your nirvana because you will not – ever – let another get as close to your heart as the one that hurt you.
I am not a hopeless romantic because I hope for a romance that will never come. I am a hopeless romantic because I hope for a romance that only I understand.
