MPDuluth

Some days I am OK leaving things be. They say love is not about selfish wants. They say love is helping the other with what's best for them. But my conflict is I was what's best for her. "I did love you. And it was real." Then some alien took her over and made her decide for both of us that our relationship doesn't have a chance in hell.

I want to be heard. Don't I deserve it? Doesn't she deserve to know the truth? The truth is complicated. I knew all along that this wasn't going to end well. I was so afraid to love her. But more afraid to lose her. I've written her several emails today. Deleted them all before sending. I want the perfect words to describe how it all went wrong, to make it right again.

Thank you. I wrote a shorter version, that doesn't explain the symbolism quite as much. I like it because it leaves things more open for interpretation. Here is the shorter version: "There She Stood" She used to marvel at the sun. Alone in its grace, steady and true. Perhaps there is a certain comfort in a steel, stormy sky, when the sun rests long nights leaving the world cold and dark. Oh how she tried to hide. Yet there she stood, having braved the treacherous path now behind her, in a beautiful meadow on a sunny summer day. Here she can finally rest. The soft, grassy ground is new and friendly to her sore feet. The warm wind brushes the dust from her white dress. The sweet smell of flowers calm her weary mind. She examines the delicate flowers at her side. They seem so small and defenseless to the harsh gusts coming off the hills. Yet they hold tight and strong, bending in unison and returning to face the light. There she stood under a bright blue sky, gazing at an endless field of color.

I wrote a poem today about the grief journey. It's not a traditional style of poem. I was wondering what you all think of it. "There she stood" Sunny days used to hurt the most. She always marveled at the sun, alone in its grace and often taken for granted. It is her beacon. It is power. It is faith. But mostly, it is love. Yes, perhaps there is a certain comfort in a steel sky, when the sun rests long nights leaving the world cold and dark. Oh, how she tried to hide. Yet there she stood, having braved the treacherous path now behind her, in a beautiful meadow on a sunny summer day. Her hands and arms feel weightless now. She is alone in her grace. She is still. Not looking ahead, and not turning back. She wants to rest here. She feels the grass beneath her feet planted firmly to the ground, the warm wind brushing her skin like soft hands comforting her tired body. The sweet smell of flowers comforts her weary mind. This meadow almost overwhelms her senses. She observes the delicate flowers at her side. They seem so small and vulnerable in the wind. Yet they hold tight to the love at their core, growing towards the sun. She appreciates their strength. How little does she know the power she holds. For she is the sun. She is the love which bloomed this meadow, and all the beauty that surrounds her is her own creation. She is life, light, and love.