Abstraction

Everyday that faint certainty grows stronger.  You brush it off, but it appears like a ghost and whispers “this isn’t going anywhere.”  But you cling to it, you hold on tight, you claw it with all your power until your fingers bleed.  And sometimes you feel like you can’t breathe.  And when your chest tightens and your stomach freezes, you pace up and down in agony, wishing you could scream every curse in the book.

Pain can’t hide the love that flows so tenderly from your eyes.  And that’s all there is, all your eyes can see: love and tenderness.  There is no asking yourself “do I really need this?”  The answer is too short, too simple.  How could you ever live without it?  Without this sweet agony that consumes every minute of your day?  How could you ever live without the force that keeps you moving everyday; the force that makes you struggle and fight with the world, nature, god and devil and that makes you see no possibility other than transforming this into what you want; the force that fills your heart with the belief that it can be no other way? 

God doesn’t make it easier.  Is it a test?  Well, is He even there?  But you keep on going.  You need to kill that tiny little haunting inner voice that tells you no.  “How could it be otherwise?  This is my time.  It’s meant to be.”  Like a magnet attracted to an ice cold piece of metal, you attach yourself to every particle of it that you can reach – it doesn’t matter how small they are.  If you can touch it it’s yours, it’s your moment… at that is good enough.

Or like a dog under the dinner table, content with the crumbs that fall from the dinner plates; content with the crumbs given to you because of that look in your eyes.  You didn’t earn them with dignity, but even the most stern of masters has their soft hearted moments.

Your eyes beg so naturally.  You beg silently, with actions you envision in your mind over and over, feeding from the fantasy of the result you so desperately want to achieve.  You’re desperately seeking for excitement, exhilaration.  You’re desperately searching for gratitude, for the acknowledgement of the great deed you have done.  You want to feel the thrill of the impact you just made.

It’s ok when you hate yourself because you know you are acting like a fool.  It’s all your fault, of course.  Try harder.  Next time it will be better, don’t give up.  Right?  God forbid you let yourself realize what the real impact you are causing is.  Annoyance?  Pity?  Never.

So much fear.  So much delightful fear…  You consciously corrode your heart and your mind with the pain caused by your dreams; dreams of having it; dreams of conquering a heart that does not wish to be yours.  But the fear!  The fear of having nothing makes your heart fill with bliss and joy when you steal a moment or catch a glimpse of what you so tenderly want to have.  Oh, how much dedication you would show if you could have it all… How much love you would give, how much you would nurture it.

…and until the day your heart slowly decides it has no more room for nonreciprocal fantasies, you will go on and on, not imagining a life without it.  Without the dream you so fondly nurture and fight so hard to turn into reality.  You love the dream.

How many words would you need to describe this feeling, this piercing feeling, that gives and takes with so much quickness, that makes you love blindly and loathe yourself, and makes you want to scream and laugh, punch and kiss, that makes you so desperate and so peaceful, all within a matter of seconds?  How many words would you waste, without fully being able to describe it – to describe Hope?