A Fools Love

Jeannie Patchett, Paris,  Vogue 1950, by Norman Parkinson

…often times we live in the past. We look for a rope to grab on to, to pull us back to life, lift us out of the pit of darkness we seem to be drowning in…but for some reason it never seems to appear. Occasionally the light seems to shine thru, and then darkness again swallows us up. Love is an unyielding foe. It has no sympathy for the weak, nor does it care for the strong who have been broken. It will sneak up and take you away without the graciousness of a please or thank you. And when the fire, intense burning, and storm it created have left destruction behind, it offers no apology. Love offers only the afterglow of near death…and then slowly burns out. A little sneak who lays dormant, comes alive and destroys all equilibrium that once was power and entitlement.                  

Why then…we live on yesterdays love because the burn and intensity was so intoxicating. Floating breathless, filled with unexplainable fearful joy.  To give up that which is so tangible, which at one time, near perfect, found its way to the surface. Your life becomes a whirl of moving parts a sort of theatrical production. So many necessary elements to navigate...is it that which cools the flame? The reality of the world. Loss…so much loss… dreams gone in an instant. Family and lives once seeming to create themselves, fallen to dust. Snap, and it’s gone...from that moment it’s as if life stands still. Each breath and beat of your heart is a question. 

Love can kill you…Those who once loved you will soon forget. You are no longer a part of their lives, soon fading from their thoughts. You are that dust picked up by the wind, blown away. And nobody, nobody will notice. You will be forgotten because they have no other reason, but to speak fondly of you now and again. Some will say they care of your misfortune, understand your loss...of course all have suffered. Yes, all have suffered. Some move on, congratulations to those warriors. But, many chose to die the valiant death of a lover. To never let what they believed in fade away, never let that true love go. To accept the punishment of Love, the sucking suffocation in your chest, the insistent throb under your skin, and swelling in your head that never ceases. Once clear eyes now see only thru salted skins. The look of youth fades but in seconds, and in its place the crevices of each lost tone of laughter...smiles forcedly being worn in memory of…A human shell, plodding along waiting for that moment when the promised sun will show. Yet, it never comes. 

Each day you rise to continue the routine for those around, to escape being exposed. And each night again you are lost with your love. Just let go…just let go! It’s a choice” they say. “Turn a new page”. “There is more time for love, great love”. “Open your eyes to the world”. Perhaps I am mad. “Mad as a hatter”. I have tried and I can not. Perhaps my love is different…perhaps I hate myself for my mistakes…perhaps I wish for second chances, to do everything right…

I will forever be that voice in your head, and you will be that warmth on my skin, breeze crossing my lips, and voice resting in me. I shall try yet again in vein…goodbye…So this was my attempt. To die in words…to die by the sight of my words, and live again by all the strength which is in me.