Chronically Healing Through Writing

Thoughts of the end -so through a pen I share rawfully honest thoughts. Thoughts about my relationship with chronic pain. Thoughts about the fantasies of romantic love , and the agony when this illusion disappears. The goal is to learn from my own journey through words.

Category: writing

Love?

Does love really grow?

Or does it wither away?

Like the flower you blow back into the earth. Seeing it lightly explode before your eyes.

Like the firefly you chase after 

Like the moon that hides behind the clouds. 

All beautiful things. 

Your presence sometimes distant, but still remains 

Green grass in the winter

Snow in the spring

Love could be a seasonal thing.

Yet, I still hope for that feeling…

That feeling I get when he says he has to go.

When I really just want him to stay forever

So we can exist in that moment we  had together 

Then years go by…

We have either changed, or we are no longer together 

We really moved along just like the weather.

I’m waiting for my Indian summer to return.  

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Love?

I’m not sure I know what romantic love is. I mean what it? How do you behave? How do you just exist with one another? Are we really moving in unison; or are we mimicking what we see on television?

The love I witnessed never looked like the shows on tv. It was disfunction. It was pain. It was sadness.  It was sacrifice. Some laughter. The root was love. I just never witnessed the romance.

Gallery 

You painted a picture, and for the first time I saw myself in it…Until the gallery closed. 

Girlfriend

I know this may upset your girlfriend, but I love you still.

I know this will upset your future girlfriend, but I love you still.

I sense the turbulence in your current relationship… well because I love you still. My love is a force moving in between the two of you, and for that I am sorry.

This may sound horrible and I promise you I am not one of those girls. However, this is what happens when you don’t clean your house before company arrives.

You left things incomplete, out of order, and somethings are still missing.

So when I say I still love you; its because you never told me you didn’t.

Nothing Left

My love for you provided my own comfort; in retrospect, I was always uncomfortable
I came up empty time after time
You had all the things I wanted someone to give me
So I gave until I had nothing left
I have nothing left
I have nothing left
I have nothing left
Right?