|Blogs > rm_7thpan > Arrrrr! booty! he exclaimed.|
my ex just wrote me today (not what I wanted to deal with this morning).
It wrenched open that old wound- not of missing Her, of course (I'd rather bludgeon myself to death with a large frozen fish than go There again), rather I speak of the ineffable sense of "something missing", of an incompleteness, like one of those dreams you wander through searching for something that you don't remember what it is.
Or when you wake up and wonder bemusedly where she's gone, only to realize she was never there to begin with.
Perhaps that is the poet's burden, or the price one pays for delving too deeply into Faerie Tales, for I believe in that Love as surely as I believe in Faeries.
Perhaps it is a burden I bear by choice, but then again, perhaps not, for try as I might to be shed of it, it will not leave my dreamings, for there in the twilight does it reside awaiting a dawn that does not rise.
Twenty years ago this doom came upon me, I remember the very night. Twenty years ago, a child of ten was struck with a sense of loss too profound for his life experience to grasp, because he dreamed of a girl and knew she was his love, and then awoke back to his life.
Myself I love well, or well enough at least, those ills I can repair. But the wound I took I have no cure for, no magick elixer, no silver thread to stitch. Naught will do but to find that shard.
Bah! don't listen to me, You'll all figure out I'm not normal and liable to go all "tilting at windmills" an' shit like some crazy old spaniard.
I'm just moody.
I check out this site to see if I can find a simple "buddy", and then I go all hopeless romantic *shakes head* sheesh (of course, I'm not a hopeless romantic, I'm a very Hopeful one, and that's infinitely more pathetic.