MOURN

 

Dearly beloved, Today we are gathered here, not in holy matrimony, but to mourn the death of who I thought he’d be.

When we first met he was godly, respectful and wise. 

Every word he spoke figuratively danced off his tongue, twirling and whirling their way in to my heart.

It was a perfect connection, perfect in every sense. 

I had a walk unmatched, a natural swag untampered, and a mind so complex it sickened most men. But he scoffed at the weakness of the ones before him. Promising me a future so bright, that the sun bowed its head in embarrassing comparison.

He was perfect in every sense. 

He noticed my flaws right away , but soothed the insecurity, reassuring me that I was as close to perfect as one can be.

He saw me, no not I.

Not the facade I claim to be. But me.

The weak, the scared, the fragile side. He knew the softness that no one could see by looking in to my eyes. A love so gentle, so peaceful, so dense.

He was perfect in every sense. 

As the months withered away, the perfect love all of sudden turned numbingly cold. Frost bitten by a love once tropical. I reached over and touched his heart, cut by the hardened edges. I nervously looked around, confused.

The sun disappeared, I was now in a darkened scary area. A place so lonely, so unfamiliarly frightening. The comfortable care vanished, the purity now poisoned. I tried to find life in his eyes, but what I saw disturbed me.  I saw an unrecognizable face, beady eyes, staring devilishly back at me.

Vacant, blackened, and icy. 

“How I asked? How could this be? You were different, I swore I knew you, as well as I knew me.”

But he wasn’t different. 

He was the best story teller.

A wise manipulator. 

And a selfish shrew.

A love once so legendary, connected by the cords of a million centuries, turned mediocre.

Tears flew, each one representing each kiss, each touch, each day spent together. 

I looked up and asked my angels why? 

“Why must I mourn his death, I thought he was perfect in every sense?”

A voice inside of me responded faintly. 

“ He had a dark side, as some do. The only perfect love is found inside of you. There is no why. There is no how. There is no who. You are made from literal love. All you’ve ever needed, was you.”

 

 

PS. I took those words, and I now I abide by them. We are literal love. No man, no women, no external source can validate or take that away from us. The next disappointing heartbreak you face, look in the mirror and remind yourself. You are made from love. It can neither be given nor taken, just enhanced by another. Happy Thursday guys! 

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