“There is darkness inside all of us, though mine is more dangerous than most. Still, we all have it—that part of our soul that is irreparably damaged by the very trials and tribulations of life. We are what we are because of it, or perhaps in spite of it. Some use it as a shield to hide behind, others as an excuse to do unconscionable things. But, truly, the darkness is simply a piece of the whole, neither good nor evil unless you make it so.” ? Jenna Maclaine, Bound By Sin
Building my life on this fulcrum, everything I have hangs the precarious balance of needing you and needing to get away from you. Tainted is the air I breath and colored is the pain I have with the odorous stain of you. Pride bends low in wet mornings, on decks with those whose pain I have far surpassed. They are hardened, unable to feel the pain anymore, as for me, I just got here, not so long ago, when the crucible of your hot irons scalded me into blind submission to you. I called my mother and asked her when the pain will stop, it's been years since I've seen you. Yet, it's like an hour ago I nursed the burns and savored the pleasure of you. Every other song on the radio brings tears to my eyes, every sweet moment of tenderness I glimpse between lovers brings a knot to my throat, a wrenching in my gut, and a fresh trail of moist sorrow from my eyes that runs down my neck and seeps under my shirt. In the routine of living, where mourning was a stranger, are found new altars of sadness. Shaking from holding in tears, the doctor says he can't get the MRI to take a good picture. I'm partying with good friends, but I'm hollow so I go outside for some fresh air and shed more drops of missing you. They say, “Quit your whining. Jesus, everyone goes through shit!”, but you know, sometimes the shit just gets to be to much, to often, and to long. I'd not be the first strong one to break under the pressure of love gone wrong. I won't break and to live is not hard, but to love you and love another is the tortuous path ahead of me and a balance I must achieve.
First Published in Opinions Of Eye