Inspired by and written to Ballade No. 1 in G Minor, Op. 23 by Janusz Olejniczak, "I Think of You All the Time" by Rachel Portman, and Evening Primrose's "Take me to the World".
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Once upon a time I was in love. In love with a statue on a pedestal. In love with contradiction. In love with pain. In love with you. Although you did not love me back. You did not even know I felt this way. You were oblivious, your head in a cloud of dust, a grey cloud that orbited in circles. You were too busy with yourself. Understandable, I suppose. But you were too busy to notice my obsession, my infatuation, my simplest desires. Or maybe you did notice, but chose to ignore your discoveries. I am not sure which is worse. Regardless, I am still left in the dirt, my clothes tattered and worn, my heart ripped to shreds. At this moment, I am trying to mend, to heal. Everyday I sew each heart-shred to another. But as the needle pricks the fabric of my old, trampled devotion I am reminded of you - a romanticized image, maybe an ideal that never even existed, except in my imagination. Maybe what I dream of is not real. Maybe I have invented you, my love. Maybe you are nothing. Just like me. I am nothing to you. I wish this could change. I wish with every fiber of my being that I could alter your opinion of me. That I could capture butterflies and place them in your stomach every time you see me. That I could add life and excitement into your eyes, your buttery eyes, whenever you hear my footsteps. But I am only human, and incapable of such things. So I must suffer. Something I am akin to. Something I know all too well. Once upon a time, I was in love with the notion, the ideal of love, itself. I was in love with being in love. I was in love with the sickening feeling whenever you made me unsure or confused. I was in love with the peaks and valleys, the ups and downs. I was even in love with the anger, the frustration, and the sadness. I was simply in love with feeling. Feeling alive, feeling life course through my veins, feeling you affect me. It was powerful. It still is. And I am not sure I am ready to let go. To relinquish , to move on, would be to rid myself of feeling alive. And ultimately, I am utterly, unabashedly in love with life. Thankfully, that love is not unrequited. Life loves me with all of his heart. He has loved me since the day I was born and will continue until the day I perish. He is my only stable love. I suppose I can be content with that. At least I am loved at all.
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