Buried Love

I was slipping through the writers on WordPress and found a poem at bittersweet diary and the first few lines of her poem were marvelous.  Instantly I got an idea for a very short story and ran it through my head a while before trying to start it.  I have no idea where this is going but I thought the premise was neat.

We bury love like we bury the dead.  Right along side it in a grave dug for what was made between the two hearts and souls.  It’s not as deep, just below the surface actually.  Enough that a person can scrape off a few inches of grass and soil and pull it back out again, as people often do.  Love never dies but it withers and wilts away to almost nothing after a while.

Wiping love off and giving it a nice rinse will never restore it to where it once was, that hope is long gone.  It can be changed into something new though, love is resilient like that.  Love can be beaten and abused, thrashed and trashed, yet it will always bounce back given the proper time and care.

But because of this many are careless with love, they take it out of the wrong reasons and aren’t fit to nurture it.  Some don’t want to be alone so they grasp at the first sign of love and cling to it so hard it deflates under the pressure.  Then they sneak out in the middle of the night and bury it with all of the others they no longer wanted.  A pat on the disturbed ground and a meaningless, “I’m sorry.”

Love is not something you collect and then toss out when too many have been gathered.  Having it fall behind the bushes or into a ditch and become covered in soot and brush.  So wantonly tossed aside that it will never be retrieved.

And what of the other halves of those left in love?  The poor hearts who did care.  The crushed souls who meant every word and felt every moment.  When love is split the ache stays on with those who carry it still.  It can’t be given back or traded.  It can only be dulled when given a chance to bloom again.

Those left in love hurt at every sight that reminds them of what they no longer have.  Memories trawled through misery that were once a reason to make them glow.  The saddest thing is the hope they keep that one day their love will be made whole again.  Maybe their love will come back and it will be as it was.  They can’t seem to let go because they never wanted to.

To the ones who discard love, even if the intentions aren’t cruel and the initiations were made in earnest; please do not take lightly the heaviness of the what we are left with.  All of this weight is pain and all of this pain will never cease.  We will never forget you and the memories will often be in fondness.  You were our reason to sing and when you go our voices go with you.  So excuse us if we act unstable, being left with half a heart does uncommon things to a person.

 

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