DanM82
2nd August 2007, 10:32 AM
For my eyes were closed and are now open to the closedness of the heart that I saw being held infront of him, I saw it and was afraid it would be bruised. I wanted to take it and warm it with my own. I learnt to love because I cared, and now I burn because of the fact that I learnt to love. For love burns, when you offer it freely and it doesn't get handed back. For if love is a game, it's a game of broken rules and unfair cheats. You can never truly cheat love as it will always find you in the end. When it does, what goes around comes around and love may cheat you.
You can see an Angel from across the street and want nothing more than to love them. You cross and try to speak to your Angel but all it can do is smile, spread it's wings and fly to the arms of another. At times it will fly back to your arms and rest there while it hunts for another pair of arms to rest in. The return is what burns the brightest in anyones heart for the deception of love is there, then the pain and agony of the departure. The age old story of the unrequited love, lunging it's blade deep into the heart of the new generation.
Though to love and lost, is told be better than to have never loved at all. This is true for if you haven't loved before, how will you know it is love again you are feeling? Or is it some mild chemical reaction that floats inside your mind waiting for an avenue to vent itself. I wonder if my Angel shall return, holding it's wounded heart before him again, asking me to hold it while it heals. I wonder this time if I will say yes.
If I say yes, will I be allowing myself more time to hurt, or another chance at love. If I say no, will I be strong enough to let it go completely and try and start life again, rather than ensnared in a pit of shallow wanton desire to believe that I am loved to more than my capacity. For how can one love me, if I am afraid to love for myself. Without my inner-peace and heartfelt admonitions to myself, what am I letting myself in for? Am I building to happiness, or just another disappointment. So many thing that can go wrong and will go wrong, at the worse possible time. For love is a game of timing and mine seems usually off. Right person, wrong time. I could have perhaps love her, had I not been in love with him. No woman has ever touched my soul since her. No man has ever come close to the completeness I felt with him. Perhaps I am not to meet another. I have loved since both, though it has all faded to nothing? So how can I be calling this love? Shallow figments of a residue chemical imbalance in my mind? Surely not, but then, I don't know much any more than waking in the morning and sleeping at night. What happens in the between hours remains a secret even to myself.
I think I've come to realise, it's easier to fall in love, than to fall out of it.
You can see an Angel from across the street and want nothing more than to love them. You cross and try to speak to your Angel but all it can do is smile, spread it's wings and fly to the arms of another. At times it will fly back to your arms and rest there while it hunts for another pair of arms to rest in. The return is what burns the brightest in anyones heart for the deception of love is there, then the pain and agony of the departure. The age old story of the unrequited love, lunging it's blade deep into the heart of the new generation.
Though to love and lost, is told be better than to have never loved at all. This is true for if you haven't loved before, how will you know it is love again you are feeling? Or is it some mild chemical reaction that floats inside your mind waiting for an avenue to vent itself. I wonder if my Angel shall return, holding it's wounded heart before him again, asking me to hold it while it heals. I wonder this time if I will say yes.
If I say yes, will I be allowing myself more time to hurt, or another chance at love. If I say no, will I be strong enough to let it go completely and try and start life again, rather than ensnared in a pit of shallow wanton desire to believe that I am loved to more than my capacity. For how can one love me, if I am afraid to love for myself. Without my inner-peace and heartfelt admonitions to myself, what am I letting myself in for? Am I building to happiness, or just another disappointment. So many thing that can go wrong and will go wrong, at the worse possible time. For love is a game of timing and mine seems usually off. Right person, wrong time. I could have perhaps love her, had I not been in love with him. No woman has ever touched my soul since her. No man has ever come close to the completeness I felt with him. Perhaps I am not to meet another. I have loved since both, though it has all faded to nothing? So how can I be calling this love? Shallow figments of a residue chemical imbalance in my mind? Surely not, but then, I don't know much any more than waking in the morning and sleeping at night. What happens in the between hours remains a secret even to myself.
I think I've come to realise, it's easier to fall in love, than to fall out of it.