Love is a wonderful and powerful thing, isn’t it? It’s also really fucked up (in so many ways). This post may be slightly mushy…my apologies in advance…I’ve just been wonderfully moved over the past few days…weeks…months…who knows.
I’ve kept track of every heart that I’ve ever broken (that I’m aware of). People who hold torches and never say anything can’t be among the counted, though they make wonderful fodder for aspiring novelists and playwrights, they – like their silence – merely pass through the wind…forgotten.
I’ve never broken a heart intentionally…I don’t believe in unwarranted cruelty (or cruelty in general)…but breakups hurt and I’ve never been the one to be dumped…I think that the first time that it happens it’ll be an interesting experience (at least from a theoretical perspective)…if for nothing else…because I’ll have left myself open, and entirely vulnerable…how thrilling.
This isn’t to say that I haven’t had my heart broken…I have…but never by a man I was with or was after (and the one time I thought I did…it turned out it was just lust…)…but my heart’s been wonderfully twisted in knots by watching relationships that should happen, fizzle. It’s been beaten and brutalized by watching the secret knight in shining armor never get his chance as another man walks away with what should be his prize…watching him, his sword now fallen…as he stands, dejected…his heart not the only one to break in the room due to his misfortune.
My hearts been cut deep by watching men who have everything: beauty, muscles, looks, money, success by all standards but mine…loose it all, either because they didn’t think that they were good enough (it kills me to see people who can’t recognize their own beauty) or because they thought that they were beyond perfection and compare and used that as an excuse to become repulsed by their lover(s) whom they – over timed – had learned to loathe and regret.
My heart’s been whipped and flogged by people who stay with lovers that do nothing but abuse, and hurt, and humiliate and torture them…with neither person being a sadist or a masochist…it occurs for no reason…as someone who wants to love them is never allowed to get close, and has to remain at the sidelines.
I’ve felt my heart bleed when I’ve seen breakup after breakup as I watched people at the clubs for the past five-ish years: straight, lesbian, gay, inter-sexed, other and generally fucked up…every kind of orientation, number of people, and pairing…it doesn’t matter…play each other…merely for the sake of playing.
Humans are unbearably cruel and creative with each other…somehow always managing to find a spare knife that’s not being twisted to jab into one another as they lick their lips while their nostrils flair with the scent of fresh blood…as if being in a relationship (or recently out of one) allows you some form of license to tether yourself to the person of your loathing and choosing, makes them your prey…and somehow, in an instant, some voice is heard giving the command “fight to the death…”
I’m thankful for these experiences, though. I’m thankful for each wonderfully sinister scratch against my heart…because it lets me know that I still have one…if I didn’t, it wouldn’t hurt to watch…you can’t know your capacity to love, until you know your capacity to feel pain: the two are required, they form an uncomfortable balance…sadly, for Emo children it means the more they bleed, the more they hurt…the more they can be happy and the more capacity they have for love (…I know, that’s like suggesting a teenager use soap and water or eat spinach or something).
This isn’t to say that I’ve never felt love however…or to say that I’ve broken the hearts of every man I’ve ever been with (I’m not a succubus or some kind of femme fatale of black widow…)…that isn’t so…as a matter of fact, if I had to keep count (and I haven’t had to…but I have just the same): I’ve been blessed, I’ve been in love far more times than I’ve been out…whether I’m with someone or not…I’m in love most days, actually…with very few exceptions.
I’ve felt love in the powerful arms that wrapped around me in the morning, arms that were followed by a voice saying “you’re not allowed to leave today…” as he rolled on top of me, pinning me to the mattress…his stubble rubbing against the back of my neck as something else of his rubbed between my legs as his lips brushed softly against me, his breathe warm…I’ve heard it in the groan as my toilet started to run – I have issues with toilets – as he got up to go fix it in the middle of the night…followed by the slap on my ass because he had to get up and fix it in the middle of the night (…fair enough). I’ve seen and heard love in laughter and white teeth and smiles…each one I savor, capture…to look back at. I’ve felt it as his chest heaved as he lay in my arms, sobbing…because he was moved by something…or he was just feeling overwhelmed.
Many people think they’re in love…for better or for worse…but these are the same people that I’ve found call their beautiful partners ugly…who call their smart partner stupid…and that’s how you know it isn’t love with the person…but with the title of the relationship and the recognition they receive for being in one. When you’re in love…you want nothing more than to forever, to continually exist in that moment…in that few seconds it takes for a smile to occur…to exist in the moment it takes them to flex their muscles while hugging you…you want to set those short (so painfully short) moments on repeat and rejoice in them forever…when you’re in love the small ‘transgressions’ just don’t matter as long as who you’re in love with is there and you can hear their heart beat as your pressed up against their chest.
Love is wonderful…so incredibly powerful.
What always killed me was when I’d drive with my Mom to Choir Practice and the woman that we’d pick up on the way would go on a rant about how her daughter’s only allowed to date Jews…and I wasn’t (then) at the age where I could say anything…but I had a coworker who thought the same thing, who would regularly tell us that she’d disown her daughter if she married anyone but a fellow Jew…but the problem with that is that you don’t really get to pick who you fall in love with…I believe deeply in three things: faith, love, and the universe…and the corollary to that is that you don’t get to pick who you fall in love with or who falls in love with you…you’re just blessed when you and the other person(s) all feel the same way at the same time at the same location (there’s quite a few other corollaries…but they don’t apply here, at the moment)
I love driving in New York City for no reason other than to drive around the city (I never said I wasn’t crazy) but I put in some club music (At the End by IIO is a good example of what I like to play while driving around) and I look up at the apartments that rise high into the sky (at 3am, there’s traffic…but you can divert your attention a little bit) and I wonder in what apartment someone’s going to die…in what apartment someone’s going to get into a fight…and in what apartment someone’s grabbing their lover by the hips and pulling them into an embrace, finally kissing after months of courtship…being daring…making the first move…who is having a kiss for the first time…who’s kiss will be their last? And it’s slightly comforting to know that somewhere, at any given time, around the globe…someone is kissing another person…someone is hugging another person…someone is making love to another person…as if they have to keep throwing love to the next country, the next continent before the sun comes up…to keep it alive…so long as at least one person is caught in an act of love the night can keep moving in it’s relentless tumble with day…I’ve always preferred the night time…probably because it’s the most intimate.
But being in love…it’s wonderful…and while single at the moment…I think I’m in love…just in general, with the world…and the people and places around me…and now…I have an appointment with Morpheus…
moocowinthecity 
