This is a quick response to Esoteric’s post.
You know, I used to pine and be a depressed wounded poet, lamenting and yearning and all that.
Love, when you don’t have it, but truly want it, is a grand, desperate thing of cosmic emoportions. It’s the wound that can only be healed by that which cuts you deepest.
When you have it, and I mean truly have it, it just is.
It’s the easiest thing in the world, and it swallows you up so completely it’s like it was always there.
It’s not an obsession- one might just as well be obsessed with breathing.
It’s you, and another.
Humans are permeable- heart and mind and soul.
Oh, there’s lots of things that are really close to love, things that shine as bright as almost anything, blinding us to see deep fractures as worthwhile imperfections, things that cause chemical reactions in the brain akin to chocolate (I do not like chocolate.), and cause young poets to muddle about and wallow in misery when shit don’t shine so long as they thought it should.
But true love? It’s quite possibly the best thing in the world, but you hardly even notice, because it just is. It’s not a struggle, though it might be at first (villains and circumstance must be overcome, even if circumstance and villain are distance and introduction), but once you’re easy into it it’s a part of you.
I had no confidence, settled on things, shined up shit, and figured things were good enough.
But once I actually became a man, learned the great secret of confidence, the cosmic trick of balls, and believed in myself… Life and Fate and God rewarded me.
I’m pretty fucking kick ass. I’m humble about it, though. :) But I know, and once I walked the walk and found really who I was, the missing piece of me fell into place and I found my Melody.
Love is easy, even if it’s hard at first.
Now all that pain and pining that used to be so SRS BZNS seems so… silly. To weep rose petal tears of bitter blood and aspire a heart’s desire with the weight of the birth and ruin of whole worlds, a magnitude the work of gods! Love seemed such a difficult, desperate, grand thing…
And the irony? Now, I know it is the grandest thing of all, and it is so very easy.