But if in your fear you would seek only love’s peace and love’s pleasure,
Then it is better for you that you cover your nakedness and pass out of love’s threshing-floor,
Into the seasonless world where you shall laugh, but not all of your laughter, and weep, but not all of your tears.
(From Khalil Gibran’s “The Prophet”)
Old love dies hard… like the relapse of a disease, I find once again I am barely able to extricate myself from it. It makes me bow my head and submit while myths rape every part of me. Broken and half-dead inside, I look like such a fool to everyone around, yet as Tracy Chapman tells, “they don’t get any love from you.” This world and all its freedoms have no love for me and my heart wants to hurt rather than go back out in the cold. There are no places but dark places for me.
Not sure this post makes any sense but I needed to let out my pain.