 Sorrow outpouring
Is it truly possible love can be comprised of such
greatness and desolation simultaneously?
By Mahtab
April 7, 2004
iranian.com
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.
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Sorrow outpouring
