Hurt myself again...

“People are afraid of themselves, of their own reality; their feelings most of all. People talk about how great love is, but that's bullshit. Love hurts. Feelings are disturbing. People are taught that pain is evil and dangerous. How can they deal with love if they're afraid to feel? Pain is meant to wake us up. People try to hide their pain. But they're wrong. Pain is something to carry, like a radio. You feel your strength in the experience of pain. It's all in how you carry it. That's what matters. Pain is a feeling. Your feelings are a part of you. Your own reality. If you feel ashamed of them, and hide them, you're letting society destroy your reality. You should stand up for your right to feel your pain.”
-Jim Morrison

I have never before understood true sadness. The aching despair when your heart is filled with love, and then it shatters into shards. Every shard the becomes a reflection of that love, refracting the light of it in a cacophony of chaos. Each shard is also a razor, when pushed by the light of that love shatters into your soul. The slow soul wound, raw emotional blood slowly seems out, draining the soul.
Each injury is a hole for infections pain and sorrow to rush in and fill the expanding space where love once was. It saps away at the love until all that is left of your soul is an empty husk of regret and sorrow.

We open ourselves to love, which is the greatest risk imaginable. A wrong word, a mistake made, innumerable regrets can happen in an instant, and you can never get what you lost back, no matter how much you yearn or need to.

I have loved someone, and I still do. She had once said I was the hand that reached her in her darkness and sorrow and that my love and hands pulled her from it and showed her a world of bright futures and possibilities. I loved her and she loved me.

I let it go with a word, and with actions of insecurity and ignorance. And I came to realize I was wrong. Over time my wounds opened and I came to realize how much her love sustained me.

Without her love, I feel like a puppet lying cast off on the floor with my strings cut, still going through the motions of the day. Wanting to be alive, I seek out my heart for that is the only thing that can transform me from wooden and empty to alive.

She has my heart. I had not realized until after my mistakes just how completely I had given it to her. And she will always have it, because she loved me in a way that no other has. She was MY light in the darkness. My beacon of hope and love. And I threw it away with a word.

Sometimes you can not see the light at first glance, but after losing your way, you see the light on your second glance when you think all is lost, and you know the path you need to follow.

I love her, she is worth any risk and any gamble. I cannot love more than with everything I am and everything I have in me. I wish that were enough.

Now I understand loss and sadness. I live in that dark place I helped her leave, a prison of my own making, one of sadness and pain and hurt. That of lost love.

But now I understand what it is to love her so completely as well, and it is too late. I wish I could show her how much I love her. Place my heart and soul in front of her to see. But I can't. That is now how the world works. All I have are words and deeds, and I can wish they could be enough. I cannot do but love with all that I am.

How can I let that go? Except I have to let her go, let her be happy without me and suffer my own pain and watch her find happiness in another. And quietly wish that one day, should things change for her, she would realize what she means to me and give me another chance to show her all that she is to me.

This is the scarecrow that I now am, the cut strings. She was my everything and I am left now as nothing.