Just Another Lonely Valentine's Day

Just another lonely Valentine’s Day.

C’mon Baby, won’t you stay?

Kiss me hard all through the night.

C’mon Baby, hold me tight.

Just another lonely Valentine’s Day.

Look at me and find a way

To help me mend my broken heart.

It’s really easy.  Help me start.

Candy, hearts, and flowers

Won’t be mine today

But you are here and so am I.

C’mon Baby, won’t you stay?

I’m not asking for forever.

I’m just asking for the night.

Lie here with me in the dark.

Only ‘till the morning light.

Just another lonely Valentine’s Day.

C’mon Baby, won’t you stay?

Kiss me hard all through the night.

C’mon Baby, hold me tight.

Just another lonely Valentine’s Day.

Look at me and find a way

To help me mend my broken heart.

It’s really easy.  Help me start.

Barefooted

Is it better to have loved and lost?  Do we crave that closeness, companionship, and touch so much that we are willing to put ourselves out there time and time again?  How many scars does it take for a heart to have trouble beating?  Does the drive to love and be loved back push us and move us to action or do we resist?  And, if we resist, does it cripple us?

http://www.heart.org/HEARTORG/Conditions/More/Cardiomyopathy/Is-Broken-Heart-Syndrome-Real_UCM_448547_Article.jsp

We can literally die from a broken heart. I have read about this and although science comes up with some really mind blowing new things, the poets and the playwrights have always known this.  The grieving half of what was once a whole have always known it.  Science has finally proven it.  Facts instead of prose.

If we have always known it, why do we take the chance?  Why did you take the chance?  To fulfill your own needs?  To make life better, more fulfilling?  To have a family?

Was it by chance?  Did it sneak up on you when you weren't looking?  Some fall in love and some make a decision based upon pros and cons, future plans, and calculations.

Love is tricky.  Defining it is impossible as language can only try to communicate what fills one's heart.  Who we love and how we love are varied and some stand in judgment of others.

One may look at a shoe and describe how it looks, how it works, and for what it is used but until one puts on the shoe one cannot describe how it feels.

Some of us keep trying on different shoes seeking the right pair and as we sit in our chairs we become surrounded by discarded shoe boxes filled with pairs that weren't right, weren't comfortable. Some of us are determined none will do while others are happy with the first pair just knowing that one day they will be broken in and comfortable.

Some are happy to walk through life barefooted.  Is it better to have loved and lost?

And now a word from our sponsor

If anyone is keeping up with my posts, you probably think I am a lunatic with wild mood swings.  I am actually someone very hurt from a freshly ended relationship and trying to find solace in writing.  It doesn't matter if I write about something funny, something sad, something true, or fiction.  If I am writing then I am helping to rid myself of the painful infection that keeps trying to build up in my bloodstream. 

I am mad at myself for feeling like this.  I should be happy it is over after all I am the one that ended it.  For months it had deteriorated until I had to cry uncle.  Even so, it is a loss and I must allow myself to grieve and give myself permission to one minute feel riddled with bullet holes and the next laughing.  I think part of the problem is I am normally more in control of my emotions and this time they are guiding the ship over rough waters making me seasick. 

Thanks for being there.  Thanks for sharing my life with me.

I Bet You Don't Even Care

My aunt passed away this morning.
I'm so sad.
You were supposed to be here.
I bet you don't even care.

You left months ago.
So hard to let go.
I should hate you but I don't.
My mind is willing but my heart won't.
I bet you don't even care.

Happy Birthday To Me

Just putting one foot in front of the other is laborious.
Just breathing is hard.
How does one push forward when the wheel on your wheelbarrow is cripplingly bent?
No amount of glue, duct tape, or mending can close up the gash.
The cherished memories are rammed by the hurtful ones causing explosions of flames creating burnt-edged holes in my heart, mind, and soul.
My North Star has gone missing.
My blanket guarding me against the cold was lifted by the storm.
Happy Birthday to me.

Break

I am at my best with you, at my worst with you.
Satisfying happiness, intense pain.

The highs and lows are wearing me out, breaking my heart, bleeding me to death.

Feeling ugly, not wanted, not needed, not heard.

Bodies in the same airspace circling the same skies but not meeting.

The petals are falling off the flower that used to be so vibrant and alive.

The edges are drying up and hardening.

As each cut clots the scar remains, imperfect healing felt with each movement.

The lying did me in. Felt so stupid. Still do.

How do I find my place again? Suspicions were right.

Wish I could bathe in healing waters. Go back. Can't.

Anger is the blanket covering the sheets of hurt.

My fingertips are white holding on. For how long?

A Broken Heart

You've pulled the knife out only to find a deep gash that needs time to mend.

A broken heart indiscriminately bleeds all over the place.  The blood pools beneath when lying down.  It hits passersby.  It sprays on the walls and drips onto the floor.  It coats the inside of the car's windshield.  It is a mess. 

You lose your footing slipping along on the red fluid while unsuccessfully trying to bypass the puddles you yourself have formed.  You take a shower trying to get clean but the watered down blood circles at your feet as it goes down the drain. 

With each pump of the heart more blood leaks out until it eventually clots, scabs over, and then leaves a scar.  The question then is this - would you take the chance again?