Is this the way a toy feels when its batteries run dry?
i carry your heart with me(i carry it in
my heart)i am never without it(anywhere
i go you go,my dear;and whatever is done
by only me is your doing,my darling)
i fear
no fate(for you are my fate,my sweet)i want
no world(for beautiful you are my world,my true)
and it's you are whatever a moon has always meant
and whatever a sun will always sing is you
here is the deepest secret nobody knows
(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud
and the sky of the sky of a tree called life;which grows
higher than soul can hope or mind can hide)
and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart
i carry your heart(i carry it in my heart)
e.e. cummings
If asked to define love, i could come up with a definition that could either satisfy or disappoint you. Kids use love to define their infatuations, heart-throbs, boners and whatever. But if you read their minds, most of them would be thoroughly convinced that their definition of love is the real deal, the L bomb that shakes their boat.
I have used the word before, wasted it even, even though there is no wasted love, as Cervantes tried to feed to my romantic ideals, there's just love, and to have any to give away is richness itself.
On the other hand it hurts, hurts so badly when it bounces back. And it doesn't matter if you didn't really ask to be "loved" back.
What's love, oh 80's child with a cynical upbringing? Love to me is waking up in the middle of the night, and instead of spending those hours dreading every minute of adulthood lived so far, and every other minute of adulthood you shall live from then on till the day in which your atheist self will stop being and employ your full time pushing up daisies, you find contentment and peace in curling up in the other's warmth and falling asleep again. Is that not satisfying? Yet it's rather selective. Not just any person sharing a bed with you can pull the magic trick, there have been nights in which the wake could not be broken and all those open-eyed nightmares kept me company as i stared at the other occupant unable to find refuge in their arms.
How i treasure those moments in the night in which no matter what's bothering me during the daytime, i can find sweet sleep. Their warm breath that tickles your neck, the legs entangled under the duvet and your head resting against their chest and those fears go to rest too, exiled from the sweet cocoon.
All so lovely, but when the other starts dreading those moments, what can you do? What can you do other than cry your eyes out, swear to the world as a whole that you'll turn your heart into stone and not fall into that weakness again, reject the idea of tenderness as naive and feel all and all emptier than how you usually feel? I generally don't believe in souls, but maybe I do, cause the way my insides turn into a knot that almost makes me choke has some quality that can hardly be explained by biology.
Hearts can't be broken unless you have an attack, but how wickedly the mind can deceive you...