In Sleep...
In my dreams last night you came back for me. You had found your courage for spontaneous life. You told your complacency good bye and you left it, and her. And you came back to me.
I can't explain why I still dream about you--why your face still haunts my eyelids on occasional nights when I've had no passing thought of you during day time hours. I can't explain why the thought of your return brings to me this sense of justice and completeness. It's as if I gave away a part of myself to you and either I must find a way to live without that part or figure out a way to get it back from you. Or is it that I miss that part of you which you gave to me?
Regardless of my dreams, they are not reality. You are not this phantasm that appears to me only in sleep. No amount of my dreaming can convert you into the image that haunts me. So who am I dreaming about?
I can wax psychological and say this version of you is an aspect of myself I am trying to incorporate into my psyche. I can say that this is my vision of romantic perfection which I've clothed in your appearance. I can delude myself into thinking this is some sort of premonition. Or I can just let it be.
Because I loved you. I love you. You have a hold of my heart in a way that I can't shake because I let you go there. I let you in because I thought you were steady, harmless. But love, sweet honeyed saccharine love, harms more than any man or woman could ever devise. It's not your fault. It's not even mine. It is this wretched thing called love.
It is not until I am able to make amends with love (specifically romantic love) that I will ever be able to happily share company with it again.
Acknowledgement and acceptance, however, are the first stage in recovery.
I can't explain why I still dream about you--why your face still haunts my eyelids on occasional nights when I've had no passing thought of you during day time hours. I can't explain why the thought of your return brings to me this sense of justice and completeness. It's as if I gave away a part of myself to you and either I must find a way to live without that part or figure out a way to get it back from you. Or is it that I miss that part of you which you gave to me?
Regardless of my dreams, they are not reality. You are not this phantasm that appears to me only in sleep. No amount of my dreaming can convert you into the image that haunts me. So who am I dreaming about?
I can wax psychological and say this version of you is an aspect of myself I am trying to incorporate into my psyche. I can say that this is my vision of romantic perfection which I've clothed in your appearance. I can delude myself into thinking this is some sort of premonition. Or I can just let it be.
Because I loved you. I love you. You have a hold of my heart in a way that I can't shake because I let you go there. I let you in because I thought you were steady, harmless. But love, sweet honeyed saccharine love, harms more than any man or woman could ever devise. It's not your fault. It's not even mine. It is this wretched thing called love.
It is not until I am able to make amends with love (specifically romantic love) that I will ever be able to happily share company with it again.
Acknowledgement and acceptance, however, are the first stage in recovery.