A Lesson On Love; or why my heart hurts.

Love is a complex thing, made of
time, growth, and experiences.
They can not be spoken of independently,
but such is the lesson today.


Many have seen my writings of
an angel; she entered my life three
years ago to bring me
heaven and hell.

A seeming never ending saga began
in a chapel and a corridor. But I convinced myself of certain things
so that I would not fall.

Time goes on and so do I,
views change and so do I,
the world changes and so do I.
Time changes and my feelings glide

to new and unknowable, unthinkable
heights. I guess falling is not meant
for intention. So unintentionally,
unwittingly, uncontrollably, I fell.

Time has brought it’s ups and downs,
created strange paths to hurt or
help the unsuspecting. Time has not
been kind, yet kinder than all.

Today is the feeling I had yesterday,
except more powerful than
tomorrow’s could ever have
been conceived.

The problem with stopping ‘now’
is that tomorrow will come. Destiny
can only be postponed for a
moment of forever.


When the angel first appeared, I
was a man (or boy?) of God. My,
how things have changed. Cynicism
and existentialism have lead my way

following a clarification on reality.
This moved me from faith to
confusion as my world fell down
beside me, a new world dawning.

Finally, a lesson was learnt on the
ability to find happiness with or
without and wherever you
happened to be. What a truth!

Faith and hope were gone to be
replaced by questions and laughter.
Friends were made and a light
rekindled; a love grown.

We understood each other more
with the absence of invisible beings.
We could speak of joyous things
with the absence of invisible beings.

Yet some things did not change;
I am unsure whether my hand
reaches for nothing, or if we are
passing lights on an empty road.

Whichever we were,
whatever we are,
our paths have still not crossed
and nothing has changed.


And yet how everything changes
in the dream of a solitary night. Well,
let us begin at the fore before the
dream of that solitary night.

It’s never been more than casual conversation,
that’s fine by me. At first it was
nothing more than a chat in a corridor,
while she mistakenly pulled my heartstrings.

It was followed by unmet invitations
(why did I not make the most of chance?!),
and invisible, technological,
empty conversations.

Finally, we meet again amidst a time
of social emptiness on my part. Oh,
the joy that she brought to a
lifeless, broken heart.

We would meet again, and the
New Year was not as terrible as
it could have been. Talking and
wanting and cliches coming true.

Things slowed down, but my feelings
did not. I would wait, look forward to
the meetings of tomorrow, the times
to see and talk and hope.

Daydreams would pass my way
and stories would fill my mind.
But I still yet wait for reality
to catch up with my dreams.

The Dream Of The Solitary Night

I was with my former contemporaries
discussing religion and politics,
apparently it was wrong to form
opinion not dictated by men in suits.

I looked outside to see a field filled
with more of those formers, and I
knew that she must be among them.
I searched and I searched;

my subconscious was on my side.
Her glowing hair, her glowing smile,
she was there in full form as only
she could be, at least to me.

My mother briefly enters and
mutters something (I wonder what
Freud would say?), but disappears
to leave us to our happiness.

I’m about to quote someone in my
usual pretentious way, when she
says to me, “I’m going to lean in
and kiss you now.”

And she did.

It was amazing and perfect and
more than I could have dreamed.
I forgot my words when forever
broke, and she left with my heart again.

But it was a dream, just a dream.
My subconscious torturing me yet
again. I don’t know what to do now,
but I hope for yesterday’s dream tonight.

© Blake Leitch November 9, 2012

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