no one will take care of me. no one wants me to take care of them. and life is simpler like this. i feel decluttered after you. the bare window bones curtainless and new after a bleach wash the house feels new even if it is not. it’s the cleanliness of an empty house. It’s the sterile hospital smell that reminds you how this space existed in sickness and in health.
no furniture. nothing in the fridge.
we are born as love wanting to love and be loved and if we are lucky both happen but most people are not lucky most of the time you get just one of those things. after 9 months of security in the womb we forget it all in the world. The world is a cruel place. a detached place. we attach to everything else and in the end to ourselves. love is coming home. home is the body heart mind. you really can leave everything behind except yourself. in the end all the cliches are true, especially the pairs that contradict: love is always enough /love is not enough. the better i see people the less i am interested in them – so i understand now that acute feeling of dread people have had about me: familiarity breeds contempt/to love someone is to know them.
everyone can leave you and will.
it doesn’t sound ominous anymore. doesn’t blare like a warning before new relationships anymore, doesn’t cackle in the aftermath ruins of another rejection anymore, doesn’t feel cold anymore, it’s just – you are just a dude like every other dude is just a dude.
and i’m just a ladybird with a ladybird song
but coming to this acceptance without tragedy is lucky – because this is why parental deaths shake people – it’s why after first love ends, people fall apart.
I am very lucky to have this understanding of the world after unreciprocated love, rather than a mutual love that ends.
Because i know mutal love can end now. It does so often. And i know love is still love.
Everyone can leave you and they will.
who i am is who i am when everyone has left.