Today, after downloading the entire Bee Gees discography and listening to a few of their greatest hits, an old question came to my mind:
How deep was the love I once felt, or now feel for her? Yes! How deep is it?
Well, this isn’t that much of a question, I think of it as some sort of doubt we have within us. We all have already tried to measure the validity of our feelings towards someone. Comparing our intentions and emotions to other’s demonstrations of the same kind. We know ours are the deepest we’ve ever experienced, so we assume we’d be so much more apt for loving her than any other man.
I’m not saying we’re thinking it wrong, by picturing it this way, I’m only affirming that we tend to do it, often. We demand so much from ourselves, we introspect, aiming to almost scientifically quantify love, so that then, when (and if) she came up to me and asked how and why I love her, I could give her a flawless answer, confess my purpose and maybe, if I were lucky enough, she’d fall for my theory and ultimately, for me.
Maybe I’m capable of longing more intensely for her, maybe I die myself a bit more than you, every time she looks at me. Should that mean my love for her is deeper than yours? Hell yeah! I’m not even challenging you, for you will always lose, every single time. As long as she is the prize you don’t stand a chance against me.
This state of mind is so real and true. I prefer to believe, and even dare to admit, that there’s only one ideal man for each woman, and vice-versa. Only one able to love her that extra mile, of doing what no other one would put themselves up to, for her. And I’m not saying that these two, him and her, will end up together, but maybe they should, or maybe not. Who knows?…
Perhaps this kind of utopic love would be so flawless that it can’t be materialized, for if perfection is unattainable, so is a relationship trying to impersonate it.
This person, your beloved, she occupied your single-slotted heart; there may not be another one, out there, built to fit right inside you, as perfectly as she did. She filled you with possibly nothing concrete but it meant everything to you. It felt so right and fulfilling, but it was all a great illusion and you now know it.
Not everyone is unlucky enough to be gifted with your unique ability to divinely admire and endlessly respect her, “your” girl, as your body likes to call her, a normal woman, like any other for everybody else, but not for you. She’ll always be the most precious soul you had the pleasure of meeting, and nothing or no one will ever compare to her, nor cause the feels she unconsciously inflicted on you, with every blink, with every silly word and happy smile. That grin that can lead your every centimeter of flesh to tremble in frailty.
Only you could fall for her, so fiercely. Others may try to replicate our moves, to jump in the same way and land with their faces on the floor just like you did. Even break the same exact bones on the same exact places. They may try, but they would have to work so much harder, harder than their mortal frame would ever allow, more than their merely human will could ever achieve.
You, on the other hand, made it with such gracefulness and ease, you didn’t even notice you were doing it at the start, not until the moment you heard your heart shattering and your lungs collapsing; and suddenly realized there’s no one there, ready to CPR you.
Coming back to life is a struggle, especially when you’re that deeply gone into someone. Maybe you were too immersed for her to reach you or perhaps she was just too shallow to contain the immense roaring depths of your flooding love. That’s something you may never know for sure, a justification she may never give up or be willing to formulate. Probably because she cares for you and doesn’t want to see yourself drown in your own sorrow.
And you’ll be better if you keep progressing, awake and unaware of the real reasons for this failed passionate attempt, the causes of this foreseeable drifting; a blonde iceberg tackled you with its elegant torso, eyes remembering the blue gelid Atlantic, and you a castaway, adrift, looking for your long gone boat, a ship that never really existed. A sweet illusion fueled by the realest undying love, a love only you could sense.