I try so damn hard for you to love me as much as you love yourself, but finally I've realized that I don't love you. I just love the idea of you and the thought of something good in a sea of something terrible. I love you so much, no, the idea of you, that I shove everything wrong with me, all my problems and flaws, everything I carry, deep in my pockets, just to be enough, and hope that I am good, and maybe you are good too. But I have to remind myself that's just a fantasy. Then I'm finally free, because I know that nothing will never be enough for you, under everything you are sad, and you cannot see anything that isn't you. You're selfish that way and I no longer blame myself for every time I wasn't good enough for you; I wasn't perfect enough, happy enough, every time I didn't praise you, or love you like stars love the moon. Now I am not yours anymore, you have lost me and, I swear, being lost has never felt so good.
I originated from a cruel place. Was raised among barbaric conditions, and faced brutality. And finally, I learnt callousness. I became stone-hearted. But when my little bundle of joy arrived, a thing me and my wife made, when she came- my daughter; everything changed. She reminded me of love and bond. I couldn't let her into the world of viciousness. She was soft, and breakable, like the snow. She was was gentle, and she was my world. I knew, that if she ventured into my dark world, she would hate her own existence. I desired my daughter to have a life of positivity and satisfaction of living authentically on purpose. She was the melody of my beating heart. She gave me hope for the future. She was my life, my world- I decided, she would live a good life.
When I can, I find it's better to vent to a friendly stranger, someone who can listen and walk away feeling the same as they did before the conversation. That way, I can hear it myself without the anxiety of the other person's emotions, I stay responsive rather than reactive. Then when I speak to a loved one its easier to hear their perspective and learn from one another, making our bond all the stronger.
The single parent is "The Fab Five" all rolled into one: the nurturing help to establish a positive personal image, the wardrobe specialist, the one who encourages and helps personal grooming, the chef and the handy-person who creates a welcoming home.
As Kahlil Gibran said, in his work "The Prophet,"
“Work is love made visible.”
Thus, when we see what each other has made or done, we can see what the other loves. And this is true of what we say, how we say it and the care with which we choose our words, the anthems of our cultures. There are languages in which “child” translates as “sacred gift,” a constant link for the brain between our children and how we should see and treat them.
Fire and You.
Fire is the most beautiful weapon of them all. It shines with all its glory; maybe that's why I'm so attracted to it? The warmth along with the welcoming feel it gives but as you slowly approach it snarls and bites. Everything you love could be gone in minutes, due to a single nip. That's why you're like fire. So warm, so beautiful, so welcoming. The human embodiment of fire. I turned my gaze for a minute and everything I loved was gone. All I loved. You.
There were no windows. Only--one, two--five seats; four lined up on the long side of the rectangular prism and one sitting opposite. The first noticeable thing was the utter lack of motion. It did not feel like any sort of future tech, it felt like the back of a truck. It was barren, smooth, it appeared as dirt brown walls in the lack of light, with sharp corners at the vertexes; but where was the motion? Those only objects within the box where the chairs, the only occupants were those sitting within them, and me; within the lonely chair.
The others were asleep. Three I knew: John, Dean, and Sam. The fourth I didn't, sitting to the far right. She was some young excitable girl, just kinda tagged along; I never knew her name. I sat there, harness pulled taught, in the groggy state that occurs after being woken from a deep sleep. I didn't have time to register any sort of fear or darker thoughts. I was still mystified at the lack of motion and the then growing presence of complete silence.