A Death Of Love Letter
Dearest Reader,
I am sad that I can no longer ignite my desires for him. This is good, I suppose because it feels like a natural progression. It is not forced. There is no other way it can go but end.
He was the wood to my fire, and my fire has not been fed. I'm sad that the fire is dying because it felt so good to desire him. It felt so good to think of him, to smile by merely thinking of him, to have my dreams take a new direction because of him.
Unfortunately, I have done all that is in my power to sustain my fire for him. I'm out of fuel. For the fire to remain, he would have to light it again, but I don't think he knows how to. I also sadly admit that he doesn't desire to keep this fire burning.
Either way, I have accepted my lot. Finally, things are out of my hands. It was lovely to be inspired by him, excited by him and to feel love because of him. It was delicious to crave him, and it was intoxicating to fantasize about him. It was ecstasy to have my desires be a possibility. It was an absolute pleasure to cross paths with a being that was able to reach the deepest recesses of my being by awakening euphoria and great despair.
People that don't matter can't hurt us, and so naturally because he mattered, I got hurt. And, looking in retrospect, it was a pleasure to actually be less self-absorbed and actually think of another as equally as I think of myself. It was refreshing to wish and hope for the best for another, a stranger, making me experience godliness by exposing my magnanimity.
I love passion, and this is why I am sad. The passion is fading. I can't sustain passions and fires for one who doesn't help me sustain it, and because of this, this moment was inevitable.
This is the death of a beautiful fire.
Unless he awakens it, and does something to refuel it. Oh, how I wish and pray he would, but I fear he doesn't desire to awaken it. I fear my wishes and hopes are lost in a dark abyss and are unheard. I fear...
No, I am not afraid. I am just sad. I am just sad that I finally get it. He was never going to keep this fire burning with me, was he?
V
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| Put on the left of the page because the page is my body |
He was the wood to my fire, and my fire has not been fed. I'm sad that the fire is dying because it felt so good to desire him. It felt so good to think of him, to smile by merely thinking of him, to have my dreams take a new direction because of him.
Unfortunately, I have done all that is in my power to sustain my fire for him. I'm out of fuel. For the fire to remain, he would have to light it again, but I don't think he knows how to. I also sadly admit that he doesn't desire to keep this fire burning.
Either way, I have accepted my lot. Finally, things are out of my hands. It was lovely to be inspired by him, excited by him and to feel love because of him. It was delicious to crave him, and it was intoxicating to fantasize about him. It was ecstasy to have my desires be a possibility. It was an absolute pleasure to cross paths with a being that was able to reach the deepest recesses of my being by awakening euphoria and great despair.
People that don't matter can't hurt us, and so naturally because he mattered, I got hurt. And, looking in retrospect, it was a pleasure to actually be less self-absorbed and actually think of another as equally as I think of myself. It was refreshing to wish and hope for the best for another, a stranger, making me experience godliness by exposing my magnanimity.
I love passion, and this is why I am sad. The passion is fading. I can't sustain passions and fires for one who doesn't help me sustain it, and because of this, this moment was inevitable.
This is the death of a beautiful fire.
Unless he awakens it, and does something to refuel it. Oh, how I wish and pray he would, but I fear he doesn't desire to awaken it. I fear my wishes and hopes are lost in a dark abyss and are unheard. I fear...
No, I am not afraid. I am just sad. I am just sad that I finally get it. He was never going to keep this fire burning with me, was he?
V
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