So, while I lay down, awake in the dark, I ask myself this.
Would I want to see her, now, worrying about me, incapable of handing herself to sleep and despising her thoughts, just like it happens with me, this meaning that she actually loved me; or do I prefer her to be peacefully lost in a quiet rest (as I presume she must be), disregardful of me and all the damaging trouble passion naturally brings to our lives, so harmful to a lover’s heart?
This is a complex interrogation, harder than it may seem at first. The answer, however, can be pretty simple. It’s so tempting to want her to feel me, in that way I wished she did. If only I could… But, let’s be honest, if I could control her heart, would I dare to act on it, or just let her be instead?
Well, I truly believe I would stay still. Liberty and Respect are the founding principles of any relation. These two words alone scream “Love” louder than many actions.
Sincerely, would I want her to even know what it feels to endure a life this tormenting, to solely exist, exhausted from these long nights and meaningless days that follow, invariably? To, resignedly, embrace emptiness as the only solid reality?
I’m sure she knows how to love, she is herself so lovely, I’m only glad that she ignores how straining it is to understand it like I do now, because of her. She does not deserve that smashing weight spraining her elegant physique, not this kind of pain, not inflicted on her. Never.
I could not ever be bold enough to desire such an unwieldy fate to plunge upon her, let me be the only one hurting. I don’t think I could live with that, even though I can guarantee I would be here to reciprocate her love, plainly and genuinely, to be the best one for her. Always.
If love shows itself as such a haunting journey sometimes, will I want her to really perceive it as it is? Or am I happier with the situation unravelling like this? Me, watching her lightly glide through life, unattached, she and her graceful libertarian vitality, that unique mannerism which made it so easy for me to just dive into her, carelessly.
There’s indescribable intrinsic beauty surrounding the act of silent and subtly moving on. What’s challenging is actually trying to be sufficiently brave to properly execute it.
You’ll feel better if you face the process of letting go as a merciful favor, from your behalf, towards the one you’ll always love. Sparing her from the burden that is to love, and consequently, to long; this rawly felt sensation, one that can’t be described through words even though I incessantly try to. Don’t submit her to such experience by feeling tempted to teach her all you know about it. Enduring that lesson is hard, and you with your bruised brain are the proof of it. Let her live, widely astray, and candidly taste every bit of her ripe innocence.
Look at her with delight, for you see her living the life you lost when you decided to love her.