I used to think that love was simple and noticeable like snow falling — that one day you would wake up and yesterday's loneliness would lie in slumber beneath a blanket of untouchable white quintessence. I had envisioned such greatness in the truth that love would bring and all of the promises it would fulfill. So much faith and hope had I that the force of the deceit and lies that found me crushed every grain of life that I once had carried and it smothered the dew of hope that fell onto my skin from the stars of hope.
I had thought that if I were to live truthfully and honorably then as the laws of life predicted I myself would be bless with truth and honor. What found me instead, was a love founded by illusions, or perhaps even built on delusions; fallacy's that were sadly sown from my own naivety. I gave my heart and opened it without question and without reserve to a man that made me feel as though I was born an ocean and whose touch was as refreshing as rain. A man that saw the greatness I believed myself to be capable of.
I allowed this great-walled fortress I had built around me to shield me from the lies of the world crumble so that his beautiful light could reach the dry and dissipated weeds of life that had so long lay barren there. His eyes portrayed such depth and emotion when it gazed into mine that I was rendered breathless. It was those eyes that deceived me and their demeanor, that caused me to never question his lies, that made me overlook his contradictions.
Yet despite all the hurt that has amassed in my heart of hearts over the years I cannot imagine taking my next breath without him for what else is there to breath for if not for us. Nor can I forgive him for the past he kept hidden from me — from the part of himself that he kept unjustly concealed. I cannot forgive him for the lies after lies — or for forsaking my love and my loyalty.
In this pitiful state, neither can I find absolution within myself for breaking the aspirations of greatness I once had, nor can I move forward. I am disgusted with this weakness that I have succumb to and this frailty I swore I would never possess. It is this abysmal limbo that seems to be my empty abode.
Is it truly possible love can be comprised of such greatness and desolation simultaneously? Or that love would deceive you on the pretence of love? In truth there is nothing in this world that is not comprised of impurities and consequently love can never be pure in and of itself. I no longer know if it is better to fight for life or to lie down and play dead and hope that the hardships and futility of tomorrow will pass me unseen.
What I am left with is regret and pain and deception — all so palpable that it seems to dictate my days.