Tuesday, November 09, 2010

me: "i found out what love was by someone treating me like shit. i found out what love was by experiencing what it shouldn't be."
him: "people throw the word 'love' around too much and say it without knowing what it really is. it's trial and error."

Maybe we're just young + reckless. Maybe we just like to pretend like we know what we're talking about. Maybe people think that we're taking life too seriously...but it's the total opposite.
We're free souls together.

Tonight I had a very special conversation with someone special to me. Someone that I've really gotten to know and can call one of my best friends. He understands me and loves to cuddle as much as I do. Someone that I love, and someone that loves me.
We talked about our personal perceptions about love and how we know when it's real. I held back the tears as I told him the story of the heartbreaker that changed my ideas of love in an instant. And I explained to him how feeling what I felt during heartbreak taught me how love is supposed to be. I then made the statement, "When you love someone, you don't have to ask any questions. You just know that you love them and that they love you."
And he agreed by saying, "There are just some questions that we don't need an answer to. You just have to accept it, and let it be."

In the past, I've been in relationships - beginning strong, but ending up short. And for me, it was a result of excuses.
"I like you, but..."
"You mean a lot to me, but..."
"I wish this could work out, but..."
That "but" word was always there because I was never sure. I was never happy enough to accept it and let it be. Until now.
People have asked me what makes a successful relationship, and I wish I knew the answer also. I only know what makes a bad relationship, and somehow that's good enough to know how to make certain things work. You have to figure out on your own, but it's not going to be easy.

Don't ask too many questions.
xobria

And How Long?
by Pablo Neruda

How long does a man live, after all?

Does he live a thousand days, or one only?

A week, or several centuries?

How long does a man spend dying?

What does it mean to say 'for ever'?

Lost in these preoccupation I set myself to clear things up.

I sought out knowledgeable priests.
I waited for them after their rituals,
I watched them when they went their ways
to visit God and the Devil.

They wearied of my questions.
They on their part knew very little;
they were no more than administrators.

Medical men received me

in between consultations,
a scalpel in each hand,
saturated in aureomycin,
busier each day.
As far as I could tell from their talk,
the problem was as follows:
it was not so much the death of a microbe -
they went down by the ton -
-but the few which survived
showeds signs of perversity.

They left me so startled

that I sought out the gravediggers.
I went to the rivers where they burnenormous painted corpses,
tiny bony bodies,
emperors with an aura
of terrible curses,
women snuffed out at a stroke
by a wave of cholera.
There were whole beaches of dead
and ashy specialists.

When I got the chance

I asked them a slew of questions.
They offered to burn me;
it was the only thing they knew.

In my own country the undertakers

answered me, between drinks:
'Get yourself a good woman
and give up this nonsense.'

I never saw people so happy.

Raising their glasses they sang,
toasting health and death.
They were huge fornicators.

I returned home, much older
after crossing the world.


Now I question nobody.

But I know less every day.

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