Lovers and Voids

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Those lovers who stab themselves in the neck every time something goes wrong. Those lovers who become strangers as if it didn’t mean a thing. All of those lonely, lonely lovers who lose their spark and end up like their parents so stale and predictable, never learning from their mistakes. There should be fire and violence and darkness, not happy birthdays and holidays and trips to Ikea along with three thousand photographs celebrating normality and how glorious it supposedly is to be like everyone else. Real love should burn until it hurts. It should consume like a virus and leave those afflicted broken and beyond repair. If it doesn’t, then it’s not real love. If it doesn’t fuck you up, then what’s the point? Love has burnt me out, which is why I’ve avoided it for so long. It’s true that writing takes up most of my free time, and my transformation into a writer has been my one and only concern leaving little opportunity for romance. And yet I’ve deliberately steered clear of anyone who stirs the devil within because truth be told, I just haven’t been up to it. Kinda lame I’m sure you would agree, but when my heart takes over, it feels everything more than it should. When obsession reigns, there’s nothing I can do but succumb to its wicked ways, and what a rush it always is to taste that dangerous delirium I know will push me so close to the edge that if I were to reach out, it would place the palm of its hand in mine and squeeze tight. There’s this song by Beach House called Elegy to the Void. When I close my eyes and the music takes hold and transforms into imagery and emotion, I salivate at how it makes me feel, and even though it’s been so long, I lose myself and feel alive in the strangest of ways. It is this sensation that captivates me every time I write. This dance. This invisible kiss of tongues and teeth and secret bliss. To smear my love upon your chin. To take a bite out of you as you float in that void ready and willing to pull me in. Oh, how it wears me down when I try so hard to be strong.

A Journal for Damned Lovers on Amazon.co.uk

A Journal for Damned Lovers on Amazon.com

24 replies »

  1. Oh to be ruined in love, it is so horribly good! Your lines capture that feeling of blissful helplessness with such beauty. Funny how you make such a strong case for love by advocating pain. This was simply lovely!

    • To be ruined by love- I like that turn of phrase. It’s true though, isn’t it? How being wrecked can be so good for us. How it has the potential to wake us up from a funk. I’m thrilled you see it this way, too! 🙂

      • Yes, its sort of a rude awakening. But its good to know that I can feel vulnerable like that. I read this quote somewhere – pain is the breaking of the shell that encloses your understanding – and it makes so much sense now that I’ve experienced it. Have a lovely day, always look forward to your writing. 🙂

      • That quote sums it all up, doesn’t it? I think that until we are broken we don’t really know what it’s like to live. And I too am glad to have experienced the breaking of the shell. Have a lovely day yourself, my friend, and thank you. 🙂 x

  2. This was like a tantalizing tale. Such wickedness I have not known about love before. It’s destructive but the sheer power of it almost makes the pain worth all the trouble. This one made me think. xx

    • I take it as a great honour that it made you think. I feel that love, while having the potential to heal wounds, also makes them as well. But this isn’t something to be feared or loathed because from these scars comes feeling and understanding and the storm that causes us to be alive xx

      • Unfortunately I have not yet found a way to feel that free and crazy and alive without hurting others. It simmer and simmers and I some days I think I can learn to suppress and other days I think it is killing me to never feel free to feel like that again. I can’t decide if I am lamenting my youth and painfully learning to accept that I will never be young and in reckless love again or if this is something more intrinsic to me, a restless, a need to live more intensely and authentically.

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