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I'm beginning more and more to subscribe to the "bittersweet symphony" theory of life, minus the grace and timing that go into crafting such a grandeloquent piece. But the modifier is dead on, and the poetic justice served to us all is enough of a masterful tactic on the part of the universe at large that comparing it to Tchaikovsky's finest is not entirely unmerited.
It's all very beautiful in its tragedy, this whole secret liason swirling about us, the wisps of smoke barely there when we speak or accidentally brush as we walk, curling around our hearts and minds with every glance or word - we give away snippets of our secrets every time we're together, yet the one thing we can't seem to reconcile or even allude to in conversation is the thing we long the most to. Bring on self-actualization, world conquest, the past, present, and future of this pitiful race of humanity; but in matters of our hearts, the words lingering just on the tips of our tongues waiting to leap out and take form in the air are denied liberation.
I suppose, in some way, this whole torturous affair can be viewed somehow as retribution for my own callous and foul treatment of James. Perhaps it has more to do with some other karmic debt I dug myself into on any number of occasions. But this is a lot. Maybe even too much - I haven't ever loved anyone like this, and he's usurping my trust, desecrating what I'd considered sacred (our connection), and breaking my heart one gesture at a time.
Is it karma? Is it Mason? Is it me? Or is it the simplest explanation after all, the one I first put forth when this whole mess began, that it is him, and he doesn't care? Oh I could be capable of fitting reciprocation if properly inspired, and if he keeps treading on my heart, body, and soul like this, he'll be sorry. He'll rue the day he ever thought to look me in the eyes or crave my flesh. But I can't bring myself to risk that 5-7% margin of error that remains - I can't hurt him, yet I'm dying inside as we speak.
It's all very beautiful in its tragedy, this whole secret liason swirling about us, the wisps of smoke barely there when we speak or accidentally brush as we walk, curling around our hearts and minds with every glance or word - we give away snippets of our secrets every time we're together, yet the one thing we can't seem to reconcile or even allude to in conversation is the thing we long the most to. Bring on self-actualization, world conquest, the past, present, and future of this pitiful race of humanity; but in matters of our hearts, the words lingering just on the tips of our tongues waiting to leap out and take form in the air are denied liberation.
I suppose, in some way, this whole torturous affair can be viewed somehow as retribution for my own callous and foul treatment of James. Perhaps it has more to do with some other karmic debt I dug myself into on any number of occasions. But this is a lot. Maybe even too much - I haven't ever loved anyone like this, and he's usurping my trust, desecrating what I'd considered sacred (our connection), and breaking my heart one gesture at a time.
Is it karma? Is it Mason? Is it me? Or is it the simplest explanation after all, the one I first put forth when this whole mess began, that it is him, and he doesn't care? Oh I could be capable of fitting reciprocation if properly inspired, and if he keeps treading on my heart, body, and soul like this, he'll be sorry. He'll rue the day he ever thought to look me in the eyes or crave my flesh. But I can't bring myself to risk that 5-7% margin of error that remains - I can't hurt him, yet I'm dying inside as we speak.
