What does it mean to love?
To devote oneself to another,
to long for their touch, their embrace
But receive none, day after day, the feeling festers.
It grows into less of a feeling and more into a need
What does that do to the soul?
When one loves and cares shares in comfort and laughter with another
Still it is a secret kept, the presence of love that cannot be
Love knows no bounds, it is unspoken and secretly grows
It teaches the heart to grow stronger with each moment
A glimpse of what could be, the happiness fleeting as a bird in flight
Forever pining in silent, unseen pain
Though filled with such sorrow,
this love produces a unique kind of magic
Hard to borrow
In the moments shared, quiet but strong
How can it be so wrong?
To long, to pine, to desire their touch and their heart
But as soon as it comes, it’s gone, fallen apart
One’s heart can only handle so much pain before it begins to break
To weaken under the tremendous force of its desire
Is that all it does?
Is that all it was made for?
To break and break a little more every time the magic is gone?
It is not so, after so long it grows tired
Like a runner after a race, exhausted from the run
The ripples in the pond, still after the chaos
And at that moment everything seems to stop
And the feeling is replaced with nothing
A void left to heal with time
But time isn’t only an enemy
Time is a friend to the wounded, to the heartaches and scars of battle
Finally, sweet solace arrives and the pain begins to vanish.
The heart is stronger, mended on the outside, yet wounded within
For it hasn’t yet discovered the art of self-love as it truly is.
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