Frequent struggles of a headstrong heart

There’s a lump in my throat… a real, tangible thing with proper dimensions in the physical world, blocking my airway, suffocating me. Once it used to be just the leaden weight in the pit of my stomach. Now it has spread its tentacles, like cancer, metastasized into everywhere there is sense of feeling, nerve endings and receptors for pain, ache and hurt, telling me that the demons are real, there’s no chasing them away.

There’s two of me, residing in a single body, sharing a brain but making the head work in opposite ways. One is pragmatic as always, you’d be hard-pressed to find someone more practical and down-to-earth. The other was the dreamer, the wistful over-thinker, and the wishful eternal optimist. Of course, the latter never heeded the warnings, the bright red, frantically blinking signals of danger from the other half of self. Of course, that was the part that ached, cried, that struggled against the shackles of the body, the limitations of society and life, that suffered, and railed against all the injustices of world, and destiny. It could feel and feel and feel, and never understand, or fathom cruelty, agony and the reasons those existed! Of course, it was also the part who alone experienced and understood sublime, unadulterated and boundless happiness. It was who felt one with the world, and mankind… the one who threw out her arms, and twirled in the rain, face lifted towards the skies, reveling in the beauty of life and nature, as her skirts billowed and blew around her, seemingly making her fly. That was the part of me that knew how to love unconditionally, live the moment and damn the tears which were fated. It lived. It died too. But it resurrected itself every time that it perished of negligence, of separation, of lost hopes and broken dreams, and the times it clashed headlong with reality.

That lump in my throat threatened to give way as liquid tears from burning eyes, but the proud, pragmatic part of me bit on the tongue almost drawing blood, hell would freeze over, before I’d show weakness. It almost had the resigned attitude of having to clean up after the act, it knew was inevitably going to follow. It knew, even before the story rolled out, that heart was going to break, and it waited barely till the moment after to start picking up the shards. And wait, it did, patiently, watching and waiting in its hibernation, the celebration of joy that wouldn’t last, and would always end too soon.

The tears came with the profession of a love that would never see the light of the day. Huddled away in the corner of an empty room, with the faint glow of the night-lamp casting long shadows, it was almost a portrayal of the heart within. With its erratic beating, that’s how it felt against the chest, full of shadows, waiting to snuff out even the merest of light that managed to survive.

You are stronger than this… You are not going to wither away, disappear… This is nothing, you can withstand worse… The litanies repeated themselves, from some unknown part of me that still held on the zeal to live, not just survive, which said that I was alive and I was enough. But a small bit, would reply in the faintest of tones, tired, I am tired. Sometimes the pull of the darkness, the lure of oblivion was so overpowering… Thinking of all the things lost irrevocably, of all the things that I couldn’t change, of all the things that never would be, it just wanted to fade into the deepening mist.

Then with a burst of energy from an unknown, untapped source within you, you would think of the all things that are, that were, even momentarily… the miracles, the blessings, the small joys, and you’d pull yourself up and trudge forward pushing against the flow. The regrets pile up, but the happiness breathes too, in old, sweet memories and half-formed plans, in wayward, fanciful thoughts and bittersweet realizations, in loving words and aimless conversations, in unspoken, generous actions and unrehearsed reactions, in the unexpected smiles and spontaneous laughter… And it was there. The pride, the elation, the love, the longing and belonging… if nowhere else, but in those eyes, as deep as the dark oceans, vibrant and alive, speaking in its silent language, imploring me to understand, to know- irrevocable worked both ways.

N.B. Understanding the mechanics of the heart is my favorite past-time especially when I am trying to write a blog post. Love, G. 😉

P.S. I am amazed at the title I came up with. It’s pretty cool, ain’t it? G. 😀

About Guria

An Artist in Science: A Misfit 'cause I choose to be one. "Whenever you find that you are on the side of the majority, it is time to reform" And a Maverick, because, I'm... umm... brilliant?
This entry was posted in Abstract, Chapters, Creations, Darkness, Heart and tagged , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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