When I write it feels like a flood of emotions running through me. Not emotions of my own but emotions of the character that is being created, the heart that forms on the paper. A heart sometimes created just to be broken. Writing is not about what the writer feels or what they live through but more about trying to make people feel. The author is not always talking about personal experiences or their own life. Its more about thinking yourself into other peoples hearts. People that probably don’t even exist. Its about telling stories you didn’t experience but that take part in your imagination. Where every heart can be broken but also every love story can end happily ever after. Its a land without rules, without boundaries. Where one can simply dwell in this mass of emotions and untold stories. Grasping bits and pieces of your imagination and putting them together until eventually you create not only a character but a world, an urge to know how what will happen and the feeling that what is written on the page is real, that is what writing is all about.
Where are you? Are you gone for good?
I can’t seem to find you in those empty eyes.
I seek for you in them. I seek for you in every word you say, every thought you share.
But I can not seem to find you.
Where are you? Who is this new person I am talking to?
Where are you?
The you I once knew, the you I once loved, the you I lost my heart to.
I can not find it anymore. You hid it well behind those bars of fear.
I wish you would come back to me. I wish you would help me see that you are still there,
inside that coffin of your soul.
Don’t bury yourself.
Come back to me – breath again
I am still here – live again.
I am still waiting – love again.
I am still in love with you.
I beg you.
Come back to me.
He told her to go, to stay away, to leave him alone.
So she did. Haunted by this mystery she could not solve:
How far was far enough?
Where did he want her to go, where did he want her to stay.
Because as far as she could tell there were worlds between them, galaxies even, but her heart was still with him, her thoughts still chasing after him and her mind still full of those old pictures, the memory of his touch and the sound of his laugh.
By time she came to grasp the outline of what was the inevitable truth:
In her case, there was no far enough. No distance wide enough that could ever stop her from seeing him in strangers walking by, hearing him in the songs that play on the radio and feeling his touch in the winds soft kiss on her cheek.
For love does not stay within borders. It has the abilty to cross every boundary, overcome every distance and ignore every limitation.
Its what makes it so beautiful but also what makes it so painful.
No one wants to be alone.
No one wants to spend an eternity simply accompanied by oneself.
Everyone craves company.
We desire alliances with others.
It’s our nature.
Society has a name for everything.
There is a never ending craving for definitions and regulations, for statistics and rules for how something is supposed to be or what a certain word has to mean.
And through this, society triggers a loss of horrific extent: We lose the things that can’t be defined. If what can’t be told in words is not of worth then society has no worth at all.
An acceptance has to start growing that there are things between heaven and earth, feelings, moments, emotions – that can not be simply defined, that can not be put into words and that can not be found in a dictionary.
Some things simply are what they are, you have to experience them yourself in order to understand what they truly mean.
The most important things in life are not defined in dictionarys, they grow their meaning and their significance in the hearts of those who are brave enough to close the books – and feel.
There is no right way to not love somebody back.
I wish I remembered what it was, that made me fall for you.
Just one thing that made it all worth it.
Then at least I could tell myself that there was a reason.
A reason why I loved you.
A reason why all this happened.
And a reason why it all ended.
© An Overthinker