But how courageous of me-
to break my own heart.
Standing in a melting pot of feelings and emotions, of dramatic highs and drastic lows, I opened my mouth, and barred my teeth to the power of love. For I had fallen victim to the encapsulating lust of emotions, and only a sacrifice would save me. So with my jaw clenched and pearlers on display, I snarled for the girl I once knew; for the girl I had lost in you. And like I, the moon, she howled to me in a way that declared I take action, “I am here, I have always been here, and if you listen, I can scream for you.” And scream she did, and for the first time in a long time, I heard myself. Systematically stripped from my being, this was the part of me that knew how to howl. And I needed her back.
But the price to pay will always come due. And having all of me, meant losing all of you. And every mountain peak and valley, cliff side and cave that we discovered together, would be lost to the world.
I look back as if I had a choice. As if the lost me didn’t find a way, every day, to stab me in the lungs, reminding me, with every breath, of the wagered piece of soul I had bet so hastily on love.
But she did, until all the air I breathed spoke of her, calling for her to come home. I could only listen to the screams for so long before going mad, that my theoretical choice became an inevitability. And one way or another, eventually, I would leap with vigor to the lost pieces of myself.
And when I finally did jump, boy did I fall. And although I knew no one would catch me, I fell anyway, and I fell and I fell and I fell. Until there was no more space for a proverbial, universal, catcher’s mitt-in-the-sky to rescue me. I fell until I crashed into my being like a meteor to the earth.
They don’t tell you before you jump everything you’re leaving behind. But a small part of you knows. For all this time you’ve spent fabricating the reality you’ve come to know, you’ve had another set of hands there, creating the masterpiece with you. Jumping is to let go of those hands, and with that everything you held with them begins to slip through your fingertips, carving through your soul like water and a marbled canyon.
The irony is how much of myself I lost while trying to find my missing pieces. What’s even more ironic, the pieces that were found were never the pieces that were lost to begin with. But I’m finding her. I’m finding her and I’m losing her simultaneously and maybe that’s the true beauty of life, that you can create a new home for your soul a thousand times over; that you can always remodel the heart, and if you’re lucky, the heart will remodel you.