“And when she loved she loved way too hard. She figured she had to make up for those who didn’t know how.” ~ Jessica Michelle
Love has a wicked way of cracking hearts open, devouring them and then messily discarding the remains.
When heartbreak happens it delivers an agonising feeling and one that tattoos a stone-cold, dark stain that is felt like a riot deep in the shadows of the chest.
It leaves a war-like wicked void. I wish I could say that something, someone, somewhere knows how to fill this abyss, but sadly, I haven’t yet known that to be true.
Maybe I’m wrong, but from what I have seen, those who have been hurt the worst are always the ones who resort to loving the hardest in a desperate attempt to escape and erase the demonic marks of hell that love carelessly leaves behind.
When two misplaced hearts tragically hit one another the inevitable fall-out from the crash is sharp, severe and silently destructive. Without warning the collision can abruptly halt a union, shattering bones, tearing at skin and causing lovers to break, bleed, forsake and frantically attempt to forget all the once-cherished, embedded memories.
Love is all or nothing—there are no in-betweens. It is a turbulent, powerful, consuming force that not everyone knows how to uphold or retain.
The ones who carry love in warm, willing hands are ignited from the heat and when it no longer asks to be held, they are torched and burned from the ferocity of the villainous, raging flames. Their scorched hearts crumble from the intensity and from seeking to taste it all, whether it’s elixir or poison that love’s seductive spell has saturated them in.
Although they are then discarded in a barren wasteland, damaged, shattered and terrified and beneath their skin lives invisible wounds and scars, these broken hearted ones are not to be pitied, as they do not see themselves as victims of this dark, cruel haunting. They are courageous, faith-bandaged survivors who wander barefoot over hot spitting coals, believing, hoping and wishing for the right medicine to soothe and alleviate their sadness and sorrow.
The bewitching curse of the heartbroken is that once they have experienced love’s extremities they will trace the blurred edges of passion, unable to settle for the regular, mediocre or ordinary. Because their emotions have strongly soul-resonated on so many levels with another, the normal sweet dose of love just will not console or stabilize the heavy, quivering beat that loudly trembles and shakes the corners of their rusted fragile ribcage.
They will always be looking to strike a familiar mind-exploding chemical connection that feels so much more than any sensation that’s been invoked within them before. But, the main thing they are searching for is that someone who fearlessly carves them up, sees it all, loves thoroughly, nakedly, deliberately and stays.
Their greatest fear is that they are burning their lonely hearts out in vain as the depth and rawness of romance they remember with melancholy barely exists. They know there’s a chance that the rare heights of love they previously believed they had shared was just an illusion, not in any way real, simply a figment of their wild fairytale fuelled imagination. They also know that most won’t handle the too-much way they love. However, they still continue on with a smile and a sweeping, forgiving stride, riskily knotting and entangling with the numb, hollow, troublesome, turbulent souls, feeling too much and falling way too fast, as they have never known of a softer, gentler more delicate way.
These misunderstood, bruised, patchwork souls roam aimlessly around lighting the night, carefully stitching up hearts, mending broken parts and tenderly gluing the forgotten cracks that betrayal left behind, while secretly praying that an exceptional kind of complex closeness is waiting nearby.
“Do you think it possible that some people are born to give more love than they will ever receive back in return?” ~ Tyler Knott Gregson
Author: Alex Myles
Images: Ales Motyl/Flickr
Editor: Travis May