Every morning I get up and feel the burning in my heart: a searing fire I just can’t extinguish. Restlessness spreads over my body like fog in the early morning you walk through. I wonder how long this will last. Or how much damage a human body can sustain. I hope to wake up one day with the feeling: finally, I feel released!
I recently had a conversation with my mother. She told me a friend of her age (mid 50s) was remarried. She now lives like a princess. She had met the love of her life and he made her feel reborn again. They are having a great time together and so on and so on. Of course, I knew exactly what this kind of talk will lead to. And indeed, not much later she started talking about my life. I was young and had a whole life ahead of me. Did I want to stay single forever? A man offered so many benefits. Why should I not give it a chance? The longer she talked about it, the more turmoil I felt. I felt my heart suffer. As if every word was a knife stab. All the repressed traumas and memories came up like bubbles from a bath full of soap.
I looked into her eyes, hoping she would notice the pain and disgust, but instead I saw her pain and guilt in her eyes. I realized she wanted to correct her mistakes from the past. She was worried about it, it was killing her and she wanted to make things up. But what she apparently does not understand is that I still have not processed my previous marriage and remarriage is not an option for me. It’s a nightmare. It wont heal me, it wont take away the burning pain. I can’t afford to dive into a new adventure just to ease her conscience.
Conclusion: I won’t let that happen a second time. Never ever.
Are you looking for a dead heart?
One whose heartbeat you will never hear because its voice was smothered in.
A heart dying, robbed of its Breath of Life.
A heart that will never reveal its secrets in the well-guarded rooms.
Doomed forever to embrace silence as its best friend.
I am your personal writer:
I write through my lips words on your skin
I write through my kisses a story on your body
which could only be read by your eyes.
I am sorry for my silent presence.
I am sorry for my muted voice.
I am sorry for the emptiness in my unspoken words.
I am sorry for my appearance seems to date from a past life.
A life in which the archers shot our arrows in the opposite direction,
Ultimately, they would never cross each other.
either through fate or through human choices.
I am sorry.
I am a prisoner of time:
I am trapped between then and now,
between before and after,
between the ebb and the flood.
I still haven’t found the key to get me out of this captive cage.
And there it is: the long-awaited piece of paper. It didn’t bring the joy I expected to feel. Confrontation with the hard reality when I read the words in the letter: “divorced”. The month of commitment is at the same time the month of dissolution.
The letter hits the ground at the same time a tear leaves my eye.
I didn’t know what hatred was until I met you.