Is it possible to forget about love, to let it trickle out of your mind until nothing is left but a dry creek bed?  Or does it fester, oozing silently in a corner, suddenly breaking open like a blister and spilling its contents? 

It’s possible to fill one’s time and head with innumerable mindless activities.  That’s what we usually do, isn’t it, when faced with the unpleasant task of enduring heartbreak?  We breath in and out, go to work or school, cook, clean or walk the dog.  Each one, like a brick in a wall, done to close off the wound.

And it works…. for a time.  Years, decades may pass and then, suddenly, the pain is fresh anew, as if the lapse of time never existed.  Why does that happen?

Perhaps love, in whatever form it takes, never truly goes away.  It may lie dormant for a spell, but it never disappears.  With time, the reasons why love wasn’t enough to sustain a viable relationship may become clear, but the love itself never dies.

Who can say why we love whom we love?  It could be fate, karma or chance.  But those persons appear for a reason, if only to remind us that the heart often has its own agenda.   The heart rarely discerns with any measure of reliability.  It wants what it wants.

And therein lies the problem.  The wild spirit of the heart, roaming free without constraint, makes no judgment.  It acts impulsively, without the sobering influence of the head.  It recklessly plunges into experience, constantly seeking its own.

But wild emotional rides cannot sustain us for long.  Neither can cerebral self-denial.  As long as the two are at odds, we will never feel whole. Our lives are spent searching for the companion whom will make us complete.  Perhaps this effort is just the outward manifestation of the inward search.


2 Responses to “UNREQUITED LOVE”

  1. And who can say why we love and are not loved back?

  2. "Sister" Sara Says:

    I can totally relate to what you are saying. I suppose that when those two worlds come together, the cerebral and physical, that would be the definition of bliss. Bliss is cherished because it is the exception and not the rule. It is rare and it is fleeting. We taste heights and perfection. Who wouldn’t long for more or mourn the loss of its passing? It does seem to return now and then, if only to torment us until the next time when those two worlds collide once more.
    I could go for some colliding myself:)

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