Love is unsustainable. The sustenance so sparse it altogether bypasses some, while others gorge in gluttony of the heart and by doing so affect their universe with such a gravity it can’t help but pull others in.
And with this distinct lack of sustainability, which direction do you go?
They do look quite contradictory. You can live harder, love deeper, because you know that it will end. You can Shout and Scream from the spires of the endless abyss that you Mattered because you will be Gone and the abyss will echo your screams like they have countless others. That you Carved your name into others flesh, that you Chiseled your ways into the most guarded of hearts and that you brought forth more beauty than any eye can hold without overflowing. You can love patiently, live delicately, knowing that what you have is only for a while. That the beauty is in the moment of knowing that it won’t occur again. That out of a hundred thousand things that needed to occur you have no idea how you found yourself on this couch, staring at those plants, waiting for the most delectable hot chocolate of your life.
It’s one of those spectrum things, again. In sitting there, head in the minutiae of the universe you forget to simply stand and wrap your arms around the woman you love. You want to record everything so precise you can revisit it only to realize that coming back to those memories simply takes from the time you have in the present. In Loving So Stupidly Passionately you can find the very heights of human expression and the depths of pain and sorrow and loss and you know the Depth of the shadow that besets all emotions which is their absence. You must find balance. You must grip loosely, softly. With neither delicate grip nor flesh entwined fist should you hold love. Or maybe, it’s about change. It’s about, variation. The beauty is the extremes, the weakness is simply staying there. It’s about the absolute beauty of kissing someone with fat snowflakes falling all around you in the most perfect silence. Of pressing them against cold glass and feeling their hot breath while libido and rational thought duel in the streets several stories below. All you can think about is that this may never happen again so you must Take them you must Earn their memory and then you must. Breathe. You must observe. You must cherish the moment without demanding it’s presence. You must exist in your brain without constantly noting what’s on the walls. You must note that this love will never happen quite this way again, and you must regard them as the most beautiful being you have ever had the pleasure to record and then you must. Breathe. And then comprehend that both of these loves will cause loss. Both of these emotions cast shadows deeply, perhaps even giving depth to your soul like a layer of dimension researched by renaissance artists. That for loving and letting go and loving once more you have walked willingly into agony for the lips on either end were such bliss. To grip softly, loosely. To love and to live. Find the extremes, run through them like sprinklers and let them pockmark your existence with wonderful history.
