The death of love
Love is a HE in this thought. I’ve noticed my masculine qualities missing, as of late. I lack muscle, single tasking, and automatic ego. I crave pillar shoulders to hold me up.
Perhaps the Mars qualities within are simply ill. To compensate for mere functionality, intelligence is an information addict, and emotions rule. So, I’m gathering and surviving. Until the tinder in my belly ignites, hunting has ceased.
I thought I caught sight of love walking away. Was he so wounded that he left to hide and die? Or am I such the injured party that it’s best to abandon me? All I know is the existence of this tremendous loss. I’m on my own, left unprotected.
Love took bullets for me. He would fight for me. My intuition and education are at full capacity navigating life’s war zone, but there is nothing in me charging over the fields. For now, I take shelter in a cold cave; a furlough for rebuilding love, attracting new love, and constructing his pyre. I can no longer selfishly prove my value, but instead, I will prove his.
Image: James Linkous, Brooklyn, NY – Diffusion Self Portrait 4′ Charcoal on Paper