“It’s poetic to tell someone that once you were in love and that you were not enough so you decided to let go the love of your life. You could almost see the young skeptic in front of you turning a bit more receptive to the idea of a life-long love. A love which did not depend on owning a person but was great because it believed in letting the other person go because they were not happy with you.
I once believed in a love which was poetic and bitter-sweet. I always imagined myself sacrificing my love just to see the love of my life happy with someone else. I could feel the pain to see the love of my life with someone else but still feeling blissful in the knowledge that they were happier with someone else.
I did let him go. I had to. Not because he was not happy with me. I let him go because I was not happy. I could feel that the whole idea of a poetic love was killing me. I could not wait for him to be unhappy enough to ask me to let him go. I ran away. I escaped what was an unhappy relationship. I refused to drink the poison anymore. I refused to let my heart bleed anymore after a love which had ceased to exist.
I had questions. I still have.
What I don’t have is a story of a poetic love, the ones Spencer and Sidney wrote about in their sonnets. The ones that found an echo in the verses uttered by Romeo for Juliet. The ones that Orpheus played on his lyre for Eurydice. No. What I have is a story I would rather not read again.
How funny it is that our ideas of love is turned upside down once we fall in love.
Now I am the skeptic sitting in front of a hopeless romantic, smirking at their idea of the poetic love. Wondering would they say the same thing had they walked the paths of hell in the name of love and barely escaped the devil.”