How is it that the heart can differentiate between losses,
That a love like this somehow leaves me in a crippled in a different way,
No this seems to have me buckled over,
Can’t forget or erase it out of mind,
No amount of distractions can put me at ease,
How is it that the losses of death seem to ache in a different way,
They both leave me wailing on a floor by myself,
Weeping into the ground knowing that tomorrow will be fine,
and that the grief of death will forever return, but it won’t haunt me,
But love,
my God, love,
Even if its bad love,
The heart seems to go into shock,
Withdrawal,
As if you took something from flesh that it needed so intrinsicaly,
Even if it is a disgrace,
Ama used to say that people actually die from heart break,
In this case, it is not death that will occcur,
But a flood of withdrawal symptoms seem to plague me day and night,
I even dream of him now, every night,
Cry at every given chance,
Pathetic, as i’ve experienced death in every light,
Pathetic, as my own mother couldn’t love me,
Pathetic, because the mother I chose also left,
So why is this hurting me?
If I can handle all of that why does the idea of easing this feeling, feel so intangible,
Pathetic I say
Yet I am grateful for being able to feel such things,
To know that my heart still can love,
despite having grown from rubble and ashes,
This happened to me years ago,
With my first love,
The same feeling,
in the same quarter of the heart,
Couldn’t get him out of my head,
This hurts a little less though,
But it was way more real,
More like a kaleidoscope of emotions of growth,
but it was not enough,
His words stopped singing to me,
Nothing looked brighter anymore,
Instead I was left awake at night feeling unwanted,
Misunderstood,
Felt as though the man I was in love with,
did not love me enough,
could not see the honey suckle inside me,
instead just focused on the differences,
tried to tear me down,
He tried to love me,
He did, how can I deny that he did not,
He did, and he does,
but there is a raging fire box that needs to be tended to,
His insides a convuluted trail of his past and present,
His plants needs to be watered, to grow,
I loved,
We loved,
but now,
now there is nothing,
only the quartet of my heart that continually sings into tragedy,
hahahah