The World in Which I Live

Musings from my life – poetry and prose

“Hurt now or hurt later? — I’ll take now.” ~ Mirabelle Buttersfield – Shopgirl by Steve Martin

Smart women choose to hurt now as opposed to hurt later. But what do you do when the hurt doesn’t go away? When the longing stays long past the time when you should be able to let go.

How long does it take to get over someone that you’ve loved for what seems a lifetime? Is there a mathematical equation to determine how long the pain will last? Take the number of years you’ve loved someone, add your age, subtract 18, multiply by 3, and divide by seven… Okay, I just made that up; there is no real number, no equation, and no answer. It lasts as long as it lasts.

I guess sometimes you never fully recover a piece of your heart forever in the possession of this person lost to you. Maybe logic never wins out, despite the mounting evidence of rejection and ambivalence.

It’s easy enough to wake each morning and say today is the last day, today I give up, I give in, I quit trying. I won’t shed another tear, give another thought. I’ll move on, I’ll move up, but invariably, you hear a song, someone turns a familiar phrase, and out of the blue, your thoughts are where you swore they wouldn’t be.

Heartbreak, rejection, loss of love, are all parts of life, the human condition. Whether we are 14 or 41 or 19 or 91, it still hurts, the ache is hard to shake. We hold on with everything to the hope that the heart can be repaired, the relationship renewed, the loss felt less deeply.

Maybe the best we can ask for is that there is a lesson learned a sense of a future that allows for love to re-enter. A love that will be more mature, more honest, more rich: a love that will pass the test of time: a love that will not succumb to complacency and the hardships of everyday life, a love that will grow more beautiful and fulfilling as time passes. A love where lingering glances and hand holding and long wet sweet kisses can be revived and renewed again and again.

Very often, I think I am past my prime, that a life of love is lost to me, that perhaps because I have known love and lost it, I had my turn and I blew it and I don’t get another chance, I’ve used them all.

But a still small voice inside me and sometimes outside of me in the form of my dear friends says that it’s possible, that it’s not too late there is always hope and I should believe, and hope and dream…

But clearly, I am no expert…

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