Passage

The passing of time waits for no one, not even the ones madly in love or the ones desperate for an escape. It passes before our very eyes and yet we are still surprised when our clocks say a different time than it was an hour ago.

People fear guns and violence, exposure to images before young brains are matured. No one fears love the way it should be -- as a dangerous, killing machine.

I loved her endlessly, like the stars loved the moon; and all I got in return was darkness and the madness in my mind.

She was like looking at stars and dancing in empty parking lots: beautiful and dangerously perfect. I wanted to believe her sentiments of love and I wanted them to seep into my brain and demand attention at every waking hour. Looking back, I was severely unfortunate to have done both.

I wasn’t ready to be pulled from within myself, but as I was, I began to love, and love hard. I loved her until my heart began pumping emptiness instead of blood -- as the girl I loved introduced me to the world and left me stranded in the road.

I felt her absence in my bones and in my eyes, filling with tears as walking became a crippling debt to my body.

My chest began to throb as my crumbling walls of sadness were demolished by a quickening sense of anger and ferocity; a side of myself I had never witnessed before. Not until my heart was broken.

As the light intensified, my sadness accompanied, trifling through memories of past love and broken hearts.

Eventually, I became a shell of the person I once was. Eventually, my eyes sang tunes of splintered sadness and staggering regret as I realized the one I once loved had left me.

After time, I refused to cry, my teeth gritting as I said to myself, over and over again: “maybe one day this won’t hurt as much.”

I guess the passing of time does not influence the weak and broken-hearted. A life of current suffering is all we shall ever know, until the weight in our hearts has been lifted.