it was love

I am finally forgiving myself for what I have done. I remember how much I loved you. I remember how it wasn’t enough. I remember that you cried and I knew you would cry again. I moved me, but those were just tiny chunks. They were nothing compared to the black lava flows who held my heart. They were exactly what I was looking for. Those cracks and half-loose chucks of everything I used to be. Moving them were dangerous and beautiful. I was madly in love and reckless. I wanted to know how far I could push. How much more tensions and power could I give before it would break? You didn’t give in. You held the black lava stones as if they were gifts and you collected them in you shirt pocket. You never seemed to matter that the rivers were becoming empty and that the sky hadn’t been blue for weeks. You never seemed to matter that the mornings were just stretches of the blurry nights before. You never seemed to notice that I was seeking for more, for such greater goods. You took everything you had for granted because it was love. But even though it was love it wasn’t enough. I am forgiving myself for what I have done. Because I knew that they were the right thing to do back then. Even though it didn’t look like it. Because it was love.

I remember that you tried to make it better. You stumbled upon your own efforts. You fell and all of the black lava stones slid from you shirt pocket. They were shattered across the floor. You didn’t stood up, you watched me walk away. It wasn’t love.

 

 

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