Her.

[on breaking and being broken through love]

Have you ever been beaten? Have you ever been broken?

No, not broken as in a leg while on your high school football team. But broken, as in no longer able to perform our central function; which I believe is to love and be loved.

And beaten, like a prisoner in a black site, bound, and alone. No hope in sight. Just misery. And the desolate understanding that you deserted your self.

Transparently, I’ve been both. And they were both, beyond a shadow of any doubt, due to my own actions. It’s been a fight for the ages, which consistently rages inside of my mind. But in this instance, it is a fight against no one but I.

But I have conceded. Truthfully.

The colors of The Press may be dark, but my flag is white.

I suppose there’s still pride, just less. I suppose there is still a belief in myself, but it rises and falls like the tide; wanes like the moon.

Sometimes, I daydream about my life back when it seemed to be better. Before I looked into the sweet, but fiery eye of the needle. Before ecstasy poured feelings of love into my brain that nothing else would ever match.

Well. Nothing but Her.

Where in our school books does it prepare you for the unbearable, breathtaking nature of true, and intimate love?

No where. I was ill-prepared. And I admit, I got scared. I ran. So very far. And then I ran from my running.

For I was a man who had grown accustomed to emotional solitude. My relationship with Her was too much, and it was too good. It was disconcerting and distressing, in the most lovely, and marvelous way.

I think now that the truest task of the brave, might be falling deeply in love with someone far better than yourself, and being able to accept that they love you back, completely, and equally.

If you can weather that torrential storm of emotions, you are a better man than me.

Though, perhaps not.

Because yes, you’ve been in love with your love…but you’ve never been in love with mine.

You’ve never felt what it felt like to be kissed, by Her. You’ve never felt what it felt like to sing Her a song your father once sang to you, and have Her slowly shed tears. And you’ve never hurt Her, and felt the lonely, languishing self-loathing which followed.

No, you haven’t felt these things. And truthfully, I hope you do not ever have to — because you can weather your love, but you could not bear the beautiful weight of mine.

I know very few things, truthfully. But I know I will never stop loving Her.

So I have no choice, but to grow my capacities. Broaden my back, if you will, in order to support this wonderful weight.

But have I the courage to face my actions? To stop running? So far I have not. But ‘so far’ goes only so far. And I remind myself that each day is a new day to change, if you aren’t limited by the view that your past must also be your future.

I might still have the chance to once more look back into Her eyes, and see my world in them. In my mind, I have a rendezvous with Her, just beyond the horizon.

Though in reality, I may not. This is the fact that I have been attempting to face. This is the truth that I find inside of a mirror.

And the possibility of it is devastating.

Fear of failure has always been one of my greatest struggles, and failure to find a future with Her has become the greatest fear of them all.