Where is the Truth?

It's hard not to write with purpose, with every word elegantly chosen, perfectly placed, when I know it will be read by my highest critique. I do wonder what my words would have looked like a week ago without that knowledge- before stumbling upon broken glass and only several grammatical errors. I cut my knees every time. Adieu requires admitting to being wrong. Erroneous in judgement, I announced that to the world. But now, to personally concede. However specious he may have been, the manifestation of pain was without full merit. The antagonisation was exaggerated. I fabricated the threads of fear and loss into a dark and heavy blanket, and used it to keep myself cold at night. I allowed that fear to govern my thoughts and actions, and the stinging words of accusation in a cyber world were, indeed, correct. Self-esteem lingers in the low oceans of loathing. My actions towards him were spent from my bank of invidiousness; many pennies of resentment thrown into his large and fat purse of emotions. Motivation for apology is, however, conceived in the thick womb guilt, and not of pure contrition.So I'll keep my 'sorry's' and 'thankyou's' to myself.

I have realised it is a pointless effort to wish and hope and dream. The act of doing is the only effectual course of action. In that, I have also realised my time spent on comparing is much the same- wasteful. I am good at other things, and these things, though not always recognised by those I wish recognition from, are indeed distinguished and appreciated. Knowing this lifts me from regret to elation, from melancholy to buoyancy.

"Love is a many splendid thing. Love lifts us up where we belong. All you need is love." - Moulin Rouge.


There once was a time I thought I knew what love was. I don't claim to know now, but I do know that I had it pretty wrong before. Love is not obsession, it is mutual respect. It is not judgemental or competitive or abusive. Love is uncontrollable, I will argue, but it can be monitored. Don't let yourself fall too far, Lexy, it will still be the same distance to get back up again. Yet, why do I feel this time that I won't have get back up? Why do I feel that I am falling... up? You're a lullaby to me. You're the night sky. You help me sleep at night and make me leap from my bed in the morning. But, my independence is still existent. I know that if you leave me tomorrow I will get up the next day. Not because I would want to, but because I know I can never go back there. You are a many splendid thing, you lift me up where I belong, but you are not all I need.