how love died
How love died
Did you see me last night? I mean really see me? Did I see you, did I notice the small shift in your energy as you walked through the door? Did you notice mine? When did coming home become a burden? When did you go from being my safe harbor to being something I want to walk away from, because being around you makes my heart hurt with sadness for what we use to have and somehow managed to let slide away in the cracks of every day life.
When did my trust in you disappear? I do not recall waking up one morning and it suddenly being gone and yet, here we are and you are no longer the one I trust with all my pain, all my joy, all my stories. You haven’t seen my soul in years and I haven’t seen yours. So beautiful one, why are we still here? Is it our stories of need and hunger for someone to love us that bind us together? Are we too afraid to walk away because somehow we sense that being together at least breathes a faint shadow of what use to be love into our lives? Or is it simply because neither one of us have had the strength to end, what must be ended?
We use to be a joint project and now, whenever I hear your steps by the front door all I want to do is turn my back and walk the other way. When did love die? When did we stop holding sacred space for each other? When did the life we promised each other on a bright sunny day turn grey and cold like a cloudy autumn morning?
I do not believe it was the things we said, but rather the many things we left unsaid. Somehow through it all we managed to support each others’ fear of not being enough, of not having the courage to grow, to face our shadows, to heal our pain. We held for each other the space to stay in the stories we each brought to our pact, but the stories were full of darkness, of childhood wounds not healed, of tears never shared with anyone and in such a place there is not space for love to live.
You see… love must be able to breathe. It must be able to grow. In order for love to flurries words must be spoken and not hidden away underneath layers of childhood conditioning. Pain must be faced instead of living in the shadows of unhealed wounds. One must be willing to face it all. To heal and to grow. If there is space for that, love will live—if not, it will weather away and die one frantic breath at a time until there is no life left, just memories of what could have been.
That, my beautiful Soul, that is how love died.
We let it.
~p.barksdale
// by Bark.â„¢ // Walking Wilderâ„¢
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