• well

    by  • January 25, 2018 • * Safe for Work *, To You • 10 Comments

    I cant help the way you feel toward relationships
    I’ve also felt that way at one point
    all i can say is not to let your past
    Get in the way of what could be a beautiful beginning.
    I cant promise you much
    Only my friendship and all the love i have for you.
    Im pretty scared too
    But that small part of me
    Wants us together..
    its okay to protect yourself
    Though just know I’m not going to hurt you.

    10 Responses to well

    1. anonymous
      January 25, 2018 at 9:36 pm

      Do you turn light into objects?

      • Angel
        January 27, 2018 at 8:35 am

        I only give light through giving love, kindness and understanding. It’s the most impirtant and the most precious things…you can’t touch.

    2. Angel
      January 25, 2018 at 9:56 pm

      Love this hun

    3. @author
      January 25, 2018 at 10:52 pm

      Darling you already have hurt me

      “You can hurt someone and not even know it” – Bob Dylan

    4. L
      January 26, 2018 at 1:47 am

      Me too

    5. :)
      January 26, 2018 at 11:27 am

      Friendship is a great place to start with..
      No pressure:)

    6. That is love to you?
      January 27, 2018 at 12:11 am

      A SMALL part of you wants us to be together? Good luck with that! Enjoy that small pain you get when we aren’t! The one who loves me will scream it from the rooftops!

      • SMALL parts
        January 31, 2018 at 4:51 am

        That’s why I love the replies.

        The hilarious ‘one liners’ that cut right thru the bull shit.

        • Wow!
          February 3, 2018 at 12:14 am

          You are a genius.

      • K
        June 12, 2018 at 4:07 pm

        I read ‘small part’ to be referring to not so much as literal measure but more like words chosen on an unconscious level as a sort of symbolic abstraction.

        I didn’t write the letter. I responded with the Bob Dylan quote. You can hurt someone and not even know it.

        And while I’m not sure the author thought as deeply in analysis about his choice of words as I perhaps and others have, I nevertheless felt it worthy to contemplate since identify with the meaning – the small part.

        The critical mass is not the largest mass. The critical moment is not the longest.

        I’m not sure who, if anyone will entertain my thinking here but I go on just for the joy of expressing myself on this point because it’s something i feel like I need to write down in order to understand my own feelings given my circumstance.

        So I start to imagine the critical small part. I start to see what it would look like. Loves last bloody grubby finger clasped around the thorny edge of the cliff. I inch closer to the edge where I see the grooves of loves broken fingernails. Loves injuries. Loves imprints. Further. I see loves body, Hanging. Further. I see the abyss below. Further. Vertigo. I keep my legs planted firmly and look up to the sky. Love is not in the sky. It’s just a sky. Only not just. It’s clear. It’s safe. It’s of no threat. It’s beautiful. One cautious step after another I retreat from the vision back to solid ground. I do this because I can. Love is in quite the precarious position. The abyss below. Love can’t make a move until its ready to fall.

        In spite of my denials and rationalizations this love remains because its wants to. It is beyond reason. It will not go quietly. It never has, never does and perhaps never will. And hope. She comes with no invitation. I grew up on Hope St. Hope keeps my broken dreams alive whether I like it or not. He is a broken dream. The love I have for him is same flame that that held itself upright and alight through roller coasters and water slides as it did flicker in the storm that was his madness. The love still I have for him may seem and be dim against powerful light of realizations and awakenings that I had about him since, and yet it still flickers. It flickers in spite of abuse, in spite of disappointment, in spite of cruelty, deception. My mind is brighter. My mind is stubborn. I cannot unfeel that which I’ve felt. I cannot forget that which I learned.

        Yet I desire him still. I cry for him still. I try to understand such things. Crazy things. And I think I must have fallen in love with a psychopath since nothing else explains it. I tell my heart. It wasn’t real. I tell it many things. All true. All accurate. All correct. My heart doesn’t listen. And still I make efforts to bring it protection.I find heavy machinery to squeeze my heart it into the darkest corner. It’s so small now but its so compact, heavy, taken up so much time. I’ve drained it of its fluids, packed the particles together, squished it into a block. But it’s still there. That endurance says so much. Endurance is no small feat.

        I know what I desire. I also know whats right. Denying my heart, accepting a love as not suitable, not healthy, not safe, not sane, not good for, not going to be anything other than an abusive disappointment before walking away is the hardest thing I’ve really ever had to do. I want him to prove me wrong, REALLY prove me wrong. Yet I know he wont. He never will.

        Against the blinding light that is the wealth of rational awareness and factual information that contrasts everything I ever saw in him, the flame is small and dim. There is nothing innocent about the small part of me that wants him to acknowledge everything he’s done and apologize, since in total truth, that small part of me that wants to be manipulated in such a way that I take him back without harm, of course, but more so without awareness of the threat of harm. A small part of me wants him back, but its that small part that dominates all I’ve written of and everything that revolves around it. NO small feat darlings. NO SMALL FEAT.

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