Everyone has a relationship, where things fluctuate, where things ebb and flow…  And yet, it’s meant to be.  Or so you think.

But life has a way of upending things, of turning them on their heads and making yours spin into oblivion.  Life has a way of leaving you standing alone, clinging to desperate wanting, desperate inner pleas inside your mind.  You feel, so clearly, that to part will forever haunt you both.  But there you are, turning around slowly and walking away from the one thing you wanted to hold onto, the one thing that mattered.

Everyone wants to erase and rewind.  Everyone wants that second chance.  Sometimes, people just aren’t willing to choose it.  They say if you love something, you set it free;  if it’s meant to be yours, it will return again.  I have never set someone free before with that aspiration, with that intent.  When I have set someone free, it is usually because I cannot give them what they need or deserve, or they cannot ever measure up for me, so to string them along is cruelty.  I have tasted the bitterness of setting free someone you would shackle yourself to, if you believed it would be a fruitful way to hang on to their light, and there is nothing worse.  It taints everything:  food, drink, sleep.  You look in the mirror with loathing, with incredulous eyes wondering how you could do such a thing.

Love isn’t supposed to be sunshine and kittens,  It isn’t supposed to be blissful and easy.  Love – true love, enduring love – is work.  Love is loving the flaws, and not merely criticizing but wanting, more than anything, to watch another person grow to become the potential within, that dream they are afraid to reach out and take hold of.  After all, no one writes songs about the ones that come easy.

But one person cannot work alone.  The pyramids were not built by a single person, and nor is a good love.  It’s foolish to believe that you can hold the weight of the world upon your shoulders and not break your back eventually, no longer able to stand from the agony of that loneliness.

Sometimes, to understand what we have, we must lose it, or risk that loss.  My only wish now, is for understanding.