An open letter to a short lived love story,
Thank you. Thank you for gifting me some of the most precious memories I will forever cling onto. For opening my eyes to the world around us, and not just the beautiful parts, but also the gut wrenching, blood boiling, terrible parts that I had been blind to so long. Thank you for bringing me peace in my darkness and calm waters in the times I turned into a storm. Thank you for giving me something that was so hard to walk away from, and thank you for teaching me that walking away isn’t always a failure.
The day I first opened you up, I didn’t know that I’d need you everyday for the rest of my life. At every point where putting you back on the shelf seemed like the only option to spare me from hurt beyond healing, with every word I read, I was determined to come back for more. Like a moth to the porch light on a warm summer night, the bright light seemed like a promise and with each burn I scream out for more.
You said: “And then, we were more than friends. Despite the resistance and talks of wanting nothing more the forces beyond our control were determined to bind us together. We sank into a rhythm like the beating drum in the background on a sweet island night. He did the laundry, I cooked dinner, I’d listen to him strum the guitar as I glided my pen across the paper both so very out of tune with the world but as in tune with one another as chaos could be. As I gave a piece of me, I received a piece of him. And we went along- floating cautiously and comfortably through the ocean, as only two who’ve experienced their fair share of tidal waves can do.
Then the iceberg hit. And we slowly began to sink.
We knew not to panic, as we have hit troubled waters before. But as our ship descended into the murky waters we both knew this time would be different. So we slowly began to pack our things, we held each other tightly for as long as we could then let the waves take us away. The deep sense of abandonment drowned any cries of pain. A solemn goodbye as it began to rain.
Knowing in our hearts only miles away was someone who could stitch up our wounds, and it was that same person we could here crying out in agony in the distance. We knew, however, that this was the only way to come out alive. For when two people who cannot swim cling to each other they are far more likely to sink than those who are resolved to keep themselves afloat. ”
A love story so fleeting, love was never announced, or acknowledged, or even an idea in their worlds. Yet the pain is so vividly painted in my mind it makes it clear that out of tragedy comes beauty. I understand now. Why tormented souls weave the most beautiful cloths. That by ending the love story with a tragedy, you are able to forever cling to the memories as pure as they were in the moment.
Instead of experiencing the sour taste bitterness burns into the soul. Collecting the pieces quietly after your world has collapsed is the only way to preserve the delicate emotions they carry with them.