It sounds sound for one to have a the-one-and-only love of life but it often sounds absurd to become such one. You could have that angel, that one person you focus your every attention on, that one person who in your eyes rise above every other person in your own world. But the funny, rather contradicting part is when someone tells you that you rise above all; we often always turn around in disbelief.
So I ask: if we can consider the other person special, why would it be so difficult to place ourselves in that very position for someone else? Could this rather be a slip of the real attitude and mindset of our true being, our creed? Or could it be that it is just another reflection of our incompetent self?
It is rather difficult nowadays to generalize this description where a lot of individuals are now openly egocentric; but hopefully still holds true for a humble few: to look in the mirror with such modesty that never thought oneself to rise above the others.
To be told of love, to be told of devotion, to be told of adore when all the way you’ve been telling yourself of your worthlessness, when for a long time you’ve sought hope but to no avail, when only recently you proved so clearly that you do not measure up. For a moment there to have felt that the heart had grown cold, to have nothing left within the self to answer love but a silent still; you could guess this is what it felt like to put up walls.
Walls to fend off thorns, arrows, bullets and cannon balls; walls so strong no force can pass through; no one should pass through lest they meant no good. To put up such a wall when you thought you have had everything in mind: flirts, lies, cheats, hurts, aches, deceptions, thieves, vandals; to have everything in mind, or so the thought. But not everything, never did was the wall designed immune against love.
Love came around, and just a gentle touch with hands of love is strong enough to send stone walls crumbling to dust; leaving one open, bare, still afraid and already flinching on preparation for the familiar pain to happen. On the contrary, it left one to gape in pure surprise as soft, gentle hands touched the sensation with healing powers. For the familiar pain replaced with peaceful serenity, the expected hurt with gentle relief, and crushing ache with blissful comfort.
Sitting here, pondering upon life’s revealed mysteries and miseries alike along life’s twisted path of bitterness, contrite, depression, despondency, desolation, dismay and agony; those dreadful experiences turned into reflex caution for future encounters. Yet, a single notion beats all bitterness like a small burning flame of hope in a room full of darkness: to have known hurt, to have disliked the feeling, and the sheer trial of protecting everyone within help’s reach.
Who is more important now, the loved or the lover? Whom do you place higher, the one you love or the one who loves you more than anything in this world? To have been in the former situation and to have not been appreciated even in the least order or gratitude gives one the knowledge of excruciating emotional agony and wandering sanity. But to have met the latter, simultaneously place one in a blissful haven and a mystifying precariousness.
But for one of a sound mind and emotion, with the stoicism of patience, there comes a time when if for the least duration everything falls to place and heaven comes down.