Cold of heart

Is it sane to want something because you know it’ll whole you up, or is it an illusion, a high hope without reason, an healthy belief you built upon your heart’s longing for her? Love can be a false assumption as we search it to heal ourselves, but should we expect that of others? To need them, do we use them as a mere means to an end, a culmination that’ll be no more than our emotional stability? Our body cries of loneliness, we can’t avoid it, we’re dependent beings, flawed lovers conditioned to be enslaved by our minds. We’re weak.

Living for a taken feeling, depressing over a love that unluckily hasn’t noticed you, and greeting what is still to come with the same buried spirit who stood vigilant during the passage of these last few years, moments that ran fast and slow. Delays have always affected our sense of time, and waiting on responsive words of a passion that is not nearly here, it kills any sensation we might have had inside us, as we stop existing, engulfed in our numb and crooked existence.

You are in your room and out the window, simultaneously. You’re nowhere every time and that’s a damned burden, incredibly heavy on our humanly sociable conduct, it’s a mental discomfort that parasites you day and night to not stop until maybe you’re so frail you quit, or brave to a point you grow reckless and spiteful.

When love neglected your life, you became what you could have never imagined possible, you turned broken. It happens to lots of people, it happened to me, maybe to you who are now mutely reading and seriously taking in these sentences you may have already made up by yourself, alone, while you lay awake two hours every night unable to forget a face, an action or a word. A love shown to you meagre times, short occasions bare of constancy, but yet you remember them better than you may recall yourself, for you’re less and less each day this person you strongly miss does not turn back to embrace you.

Every day you spend thinking of this nuances, it’ll be a day thrown away to feed solitude. This cycle is imperishable, no one is able to judge your love for you, but should it be your love if it is burying you only? And the irony is that we remain so sure that us, we are feeling, subsisting and subsiding with a purpose, but sadly we’ll come to conclude it was totally in vain, and that the single meaningful product we attained through this is a solid wisdom. A mindset strong and mature enough so you won’t fall in the same way, a lesson you didn’t expect lectured to you, at such an incoherent moment, one that forced you into dealing with an ache that aches for real.

But well, that ache that ached is long gone, though its resilient nature will bring it back to your sight once in a while, and you’ll gaze upon it, dressed in your newly sewed arrogant demeanor only to not care if it still creeps in or not. Your indifference over such matter made you invulnerable and now your struggle is another, is to fight your invulnerability so you descend to a human state again, a presence who’ll dare to act delicate one more time, be loved and love back.


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