A story about Love
This episode of what is this idiot doing?
I’m going to be talking about how I went from
I’m never gonna feel love again, *and I’m okay with that*
To
I love her!!!!!! Life makes sense.
In 4 months.
You can throw in:
We broke up 2 Sundays ago.
The truth is, that is what I wanna write about but one lesson I learnt is this:
Love requires individual clarity in other to graft like citrus a new creation designed from the messy parts of functionally resilient lives, whole or not.
Also:
Love is an intersection at a stop sign. Which means, it’s not enough for the road ahead to be clear, one must consider the consent of the perpendicular life that is the object of your choice, to love.
What do we call a letter to a former love ?
A love letter*
- *Love her refers to an active ongoing choice that will not be smothered by the official end to this season of life. Like a former president remains so but steps into a capacity with no authority.
I will always love you.
I missed writing.
I missed this process that feel like emotional defecation.
When it doesn’t happen, it feels like toxic emotions are trapped within me; and that can’t be good for anybody.
I couldn’t write because the object of my inspiration was stepped on in order to tell the stories that brought me relief.
I couldn’t write because it was more important to trap emotions that no longer served; no longer had juice; no longer had nutrients to assimilate. Than to go back into the arms of my lover after stabbing her in the back just to get things off my chest.
I didn’t write because I had to stare at how pathetic I really am in the face.
Pleasure in Hurting.
Instead of face my demons.
Instead of pointing the gun at myself and digging out all my flaws. I boosted my ego by announcing to the world that I, as pathetic as I was, had suitors; multiple suitors.
The annoying thing is that I didn’t set out to do that but I know it felt good when I did even though it made no sense why.
You know when you feel humble because you are cracking jokes that people are laughing at. Throw in the occasional, I am so stupid; even though the subject matter of my joke is someone innocent. I couldn’t imagine that I was doing the wrong thing when I have used the magic words that indicate that I suck.
The problem is, I didn’t believe that I suck. I didn’t write from a place of contriteness. I wasn’t truly broken. I was proud to be in touch with my emotions. I was addicted, am maybe to the audience’s response.
The messed up thing is that it didn’t matter whose name was on the bill of the jokes that I was telling.
It’s like a comedian telling jokes about his life but using his wife as the punchline.
I had to learn that the hard way that when you love someone; you stop at the stop sign. No matter how much hurry you are to get where you need to get to.
You stop at the stop sign. Also, you don’t leave until you are sure there won’t be a collision.
I’m still processing what I am feeling but one thing that is unmistaken is this:
There has to be a way to love without leaving a behind a trail of pain behind.
I’m destined to find that out.
And I know it will require true humility and intentionality.
If I am lucky, she will be my last but I must be open to all three healthy possibilities:
- I may not find love and I must find love within in who I am becoming and what purpose unravels each morning that I have life.
- Love must be discovered. I cannot sit idly and expect her to be delivered like my dinner through uber eats. Yet like my dinner, the difficulty of discovery doesn’t determine the depth of her delight.
- Avoiding hurt or inflicting hurt are two extremes of the same problem. Love hurts. It’s worth is measured in its cost. Its cost demands loss. You cannot buy without paying. You cannot love without hurting. But don’t take what you know doesn’t belong to you. Give back what you know isn’t yours as soon as you know. No matter the price you already paid to have it.