I will not love you less

I will not love you less.

I won’t meet you for that coffee. I will not sit in glaring light and hardened air, the hover of history between us. I will not settle down across from you, nerves tapping tabletops, our eyes never holding.

Pretending I don’t want to pull you close or feel your hand against my thigh.

I will not play with sanity, or wash this clean. I don’t have that artifice in me, or your ability to skim over the storm and swell of our wild, wide sea.

I could not bear the loss so casually, the diminishing of what we used to be. You cannot, must not ask that of me. Not when I have loved you so desperately. Not when you have been my life’s fatality (love should never die unhurriedly).

I will not – not ever – love you less, or with any less of me.

I will not love you less by JR Bublitz

“And somehow the memory of how complete we used to be – is keeping me from you.”

~ If I Ever Say I’m Over You by John Bucchino

Into something stronger

So many people die protecting their heart, instead of exposing it. They never once say – Fuck it! I’m in. It wouldn’t work? Who cares! Let’s try! They never take the leap, and risk the fall. The knowing, finally, that you are on your way now. Or free to leave, once and for all. It might break their heart to find out. It should break their heart. That’s how you’re meant to use it.

That’s how the light gets in.

You cannot be tentative with love. You have to crash into it, you have to crack through it. Your heart can take it. That resilient little organ, every time it breaks, it cobbles back together somehow. It recalibrates around the ache, into something stronger.

Every time.

You have to break your own heart. I hope you break your heart. Use it, while it is still drumming away, under the skin. Tell that person. Ask that person. Turn out your palms and say I’m here. I’m in. Don’t bequeath them your questions. Risk your heart – break it! – to find the answers. Maybe that person will help you put your heart back together. Maybe you’ll have to do it alone. It doesn’t matter. It recalibrates around the ache, into something stronger.

Every time.

And the only way to really let go – is to know.

Leaving
Image by Joanne Piechota

(So now you now. Time to let go)

This love that is mine

It is not a small love.

It is a big, messy, wild love. It is moss and thicket, and forest floor. It is tangled vines and surviving light, and the shocking red of a determined flower. It is a love that has always grown best in the dark.

It is not a polite love.

If the heart is a fist, this is the punch it delivers. A love that sinks ships then trawls them for their treasures, a love that will search every room to find what lays beating deep in the chest. It is a love that never stops seeking a truth that is hidden.

It is a love that is tender and generous, still.

A love that reaches at five am, that finds its expression in the dusty light and drowsy touch of morning storms. A love made from the heaviest air and an opening sky. It is a love that rains down for days.

This love that sheds its skin a hundred times – and more. Grown too large to be contained by the shelter of gods and boxes, and easier terms. This love that is mine and was yours and is now.

(It does not know its time or place. And it bursts with life in its own conclusion).

Jacqueline Bublitz Image

“Ordinary life does not interest me.” ~ Anais Nin