It was love after all

Every now and then we find ourselves taking pride in our ability -among other abilities- to recollect moments in our personal, signature way. It all seems so clear when we are finally out of the water. When the storm has passed and humidity, this high level of water vapor in the atmosphere, cannot make your bones feel soggy, your head heavy and your hands sticky. You are faced with what has actually happened. You gain a deep understanding of the sequence of facts by counting what has the water impact left intact.

It was a battlefield all along, after all, you need to count the casualties, too. You recollect moments of angry shouts and cries that filled the air, already heavy with a strong saturation of blood. It marks the amount of what is left after this losing game was over. It is so vivid that you see it all for what it really was.

It is neither philosophy nor just theory to claim that we have no say in what others live, breathe, and feel, and yet it all seems so simple and clean when you stand on the outside. We thrive from our connections, the bonds we share with people. And yet, despite all the endless socializing, there is only one kind of relationship that defines it all. The most personal and intimate one. The one that made us we feel, numerous times, ready for the rapture, reaching for the light but it turned out to be a trick our eyes were playing on us.

These tiny little movements towards ecstasy in time, embedded in a certain vibrational frequency slipping through our ears. Our eyes. Our mind. Our hearts and all of our senses. And then it all settles for a little while but it never stays the same or maybe it does and that is the problem. As the situation changes and moves toward its ending your perspective changes; it changes. Even memories occasionally. That is the defense mechanism we use to protect ourselves from any further harm which can potentially lead to even more harm. Simply because we want to unload the burden on the other person just to feel lighter and able to walk with ease again. We throw accusations like bows to a target fiercely and relentlessly just to hurt the other person because we -despite the clear mind- feel more hurt than our armor after a long day on the battlefield.

And then the choice comes uninvited. You can either take responsibility. Take your share of the blame and use it to ground your next step -and thus the life that comes next- and smile, because life is quite funny that way, and we never recognize the value of a moment or a situation until it is settled and then we unearth it the way we pick flowers from the ground, and it ceases to be.

Or you can just keep on pretending the situation chose you, you could not control it and it is all someone else’s fault.

The truth is nothing really chooses you if you don’t choose it first. So, take a moment to respect it. The way you want to be respected. This was love, after all, you must be guilty of something. Otherwise it never really happened.