“I know you in my bones.” I’ve told you a hundred times. You’ve always looked at me wallowing in such authentic distrust, as though in no conceivable way could I possibly understand the world beneath your tired bravado. But what you have failed to explore is my view on the subject of love. Although my experience with the stuff has only been tainted by a broken home and the willing consumption of pop culture’s finest -to me it means to understand all that is a person and love them entirely despite their flawed humanity. This is love by my humble definition and in the time that I have known you I’ve had the sense that I have loved you before I even knew you. Studying, understanding and truly engulfing yourself in the inner workings of another are the foundational aspects of what it means to approach affection. And I have, my dark, beautiful angel. I have allowed myself to feel your pain’s complexity and read between the webbing of its depth. You, yourself, don’t fully comprehend the lack of life inside your soul. But you don’t see inside your damaged angry heart with the pure eyes of unconditional love. If it weren’t for this true understanding and compassion I would hate you the way I ought to. Destroy me as you have countless times; bring me close only to shove me away. Undermine me, hide from me, accuse me, and leave me. If not for the understanding of your pain-ridden core and your misled reasoning I would detest you with the fire of fallen love. But I know you in my marrow. And I see you in your beautiful sad brilliance.
Inside the man I love there is a desert storm. Tragedy and misguided innocence have become the dried cracks in the land and the heat of sand on my tender shaking fingers replace a once brilliant garden. I see the ghosts of that gentle wilderness. It has only taken me so long to realize that you cannot love what is long gone.
You have died once or twice or a million times inside that same skin. And try as you claim to foster a flower you can only bring the lifeless findings of the crow you call on to retrieve yourself. And I take these weeds, serpents of the danger inside you and understand that they are your best. But as I try to use these to plant in my own still breathing soul I’ve found that like poison they have begun to kill what lives in me. And this I cannot allow. The forest that holds the fortitude of my core has begun to weaken and the floral beauty that I extend through my fingers has slowly turned gray. And I love you with every fiber of my consciousness but to die for you is a price too large to pay. My body has lived through countless blizzard storms of your indifference but you have begun to murder the reason it has continued to bother with survival. I cannot die for you. I cannot die. I can only pray and hope and say that you will find the life that still peaks through the cracks in moments of innocent surrender. But to die for you, my sweet cold love, to let you kill the life inside me, is something I will not do. So leave, as you intend to. I will not stop you. And I will close the door so you may never re-enter the warmth of my heart without a sun of your own. But do not be fooled. This garden was made to love yours. Grow again, feel again and live again. Breathe life into yourself and we can be wild, weeping, wonderful wilderness together all over again. I will never not love you.