The Battle

Love, Love, Love

Before I head off to sleep, I have to get this out of my mind first...

A news from someone just confirmed what I've been discussing with a friend days ago, about love. I could already hear the jeers...

Love is such a cliche. I mean, really, when people tell me about essays they've written and it's about love, I can't stop myself from cringing. Maybe it's because I'm bitter...You could say that. Or maybe it's because I've grown tired of all such store-bought romances...you know, the kinds you see in mainstream movies, the ones you experience second-third-fourth hand from friends. It's cyclical, much like life and probably the best reason why I shy away from writing about love when it comes to essays and papers is because I've had so little experience with and of it (sure, my closest friends, the ones that know every inch of my soul would beg to disagree). I do better when I write about life experiences in general, like fear, suffering, joy, triumph, friendship...Those kinds of things. Romantic love, I could try at it.

This is all but a simple dedication to a friend, who's going through tough times now. Actually, they're both my friends and even if they wouldn't probably read this, I'd still finish it anyway. I've seen them develop through such a short period of time and just like everyone else, they ended it. At the start it was all too shiny and promising even, that fireworks wouldn't do it much justice. They go through the most romantic of days winking at each other in an all natural and non-sexual way that it ignites sparks inside even the coldest person. They looked great together and those singles, like me, would just sip at their folly and pray they'd last. Well, here they are now, promising each other friendship...

Truth is, you can't be friends with your ex. You could try, at least, to tell yourself that it'll be the case, but you know once you've let him/her in and then it's over, it's over alright. You can't hold his/her hand as friends. You can't text him/her good morning as friends. That's bullshit. Then again, it's not always the case.

There are those special ones who break up only to find so much missing when they never see each other again. Those are the blessed ones...

And then you have people who go through so much, end up together, and then one dies...You end up nursing more than a broken heart because the moment you've shared more than just moments, it's like putting your soul on a stake, waiting for some burning.

Love, in general isn't sweet at all. It teaches you so much things...patience, loyalty, confidence, trust, sincerity, understanding, accepting...Education, we know is never like a bite of dessert. It's painful and it---at times---bores you to death. But you learn. After you get pass all the crap, you learn. When you decide your soft enough and malleable enough for all kinds of stretching and bending and molding, you give yourself to one of man kind's most poignant affairs...love. It's only love. You give your all, you lose everything else. Now, it's worth digging a grave for. Now, it's worth getting drunk over. Now, it's worth ranting about on Tumblr. Now, the pain is all that matters.

Love, may have ransacked your soul to horrible pieces, but it'll always be the same thread to piece you back up. It may not be in the form of a new lover, but it'll be as responsible in fixing you as it was in breaking you apart. People will always love, lose and then love and lose again. It's a battle, really. Hitler have won so much in World War 2. He's lost just as much too. Every hero has his equal share of victories and losses. You've never fully fought if you haven't won anything or lost anything...And you've never entirely love if you haven't lost or won it.

Years and years after pain and those dark nights you love looking back on, with or without a special anyone with you, you realize that you've become as smooth as marble and as tough as a diamond because love has carved you into one complete artwork. Look at me, writing about something I try to stay away from...And yet I think I make sense. I could say, based on my short encounter with love (well, at least one of them), that I have come out as beautiful as the David after the loss and the pain. I've loved enough and lost enough, only to come out with a sense of satisfaction, pride and joy. And now, I'm hopeful, as always, that in the near future, I could situate myself in some near perfection... That's love. It's the constant battle for hope that one day, someday soon, you'll pretty much be a stunning work of art, worthy of a spot in the Louvre.

.Gerard