Love Hurt Heal Repeat

And then there was the goodbye...it was only for a night but the departure meant something far more significant than a temporary farewell. It was saying goodbye to a state of being. The hug lasted for longer than hugs have any right to and in the silent pressure they tried to convey all the affection, both existing and that which only had memories of it left. The affection which had drowned in the daily din of complaints blames and defenses. No words were said. In that one hug, he felt that love which had formed the basis of it all; for once it was not corrupted by lack of will to understand or the excess of one to explain.

As he walked away, each step painful, he also felt less heavy. The acceptance of break up brought with it the knowledge that the other would no longer have the power to hurt him, disappoint him, nor will he be capable of hurting himself by expectations he built up; depends on which side of the story you believe. He now believed in both, in his own insecurities as well as other's incapability. Most of all he believed in circumstances and its diabolic working.

It was so simple, they were screwed by queer cause and effect pair...an effect which once initiated would become its own cause and the cycle would keep repeating. There was no healing each other, it was impossible because they both were responsible for each other's sickness. They both kept passing it to each other. But distance, that was healing. He felt like a flower that bloomed only to be caught in a storm both harsh and dry, leaving it torn, misshaped and vulnerable. Night had fallen and it was finally closing up, carefully tucking each wounded petal back into a protection. Each step was closing of open gates that had led straight to his core. He felt secure. But it wasn't for long.

He dreamed of memories and hopes that night, only to wake up to find ruffled the feathers that he had thought he had tucked in last night, feathers that were too used to flying and would not stay put. And he began the process again, one by one, straightening and tucking them in till he felt secure again. He realized that for a while, he would have to keep doing this. Like a weekly theater, only the actors of the play were also the players of the act which it tried to recreate. He could have gone for the distractions, of conversations, of books; but he did not. He will not hide behind them. But look straight into the storm, learn from it and get strength from it to face the inner storm of recurring love. He will not kill the love, though, he couldn't have, it was beautiful and lasting. But to be in love and to be in a relationship are different things. It's the latter he had to learn to get used to not having.