There is a kind of love that bleeds out in fights.
Then there is the kind of love that is slowly and steadily buried in silence.
 
The silence of unasked questions.
The quiet, unexpressed hurt and disappointment.
The silent frustration, unworded doubts, unvoiced anger even?
The silence of the unspoken yet incessant overwhelm of feelings unbound.
 
Silence.
Silence that entangles you in its dark safety net.
Silence that makes you belief that everything is just as you had always imagined.
Silence that numbs down the raging war of chilling what-ifs in your head.
Silence.
The dark safety net that eventually slashes through your soul.
 
How you wish someone would
Cut through the tangled up net engulfing you whole.
How you wish someone would
Pull you out from the invisible chokehold strangling you alive.
How you wish someone would
Hear you scream and not shudder away.
Hear you cry and not say “It’s Okay” when nothing really is.
Listen to every spinning thread of fear and rage and grief in perfect silence.
Be all quiet.
With you.
For you.
From a distance.
Giving you your space in the void.
 
And maybe.
Maybe you even know someone who will.
Someone who has been – who is – reaching out to you.
But you.
You don’t know how to let anyone hold your hand anymore.
 
Will they save you to leave you the very next minute?
Will they save you to tell you everything that’s wrong with you and how you brought this engulfing darkness upon yourself?
Will they save you to remind you of how they saved you this one time for the rest of every waking minute you spent together since?
Will they save you to use your gratitude as a currency for some indefinite future debt?
Will they save you to hurt you worse?
Build you up only to break you apart?
 
Will they ever really be there to just let you save yourself?
 
You can no longer be sure of anything at all.
 
Neither you.
Nor them.
 
But you see this time.
This time the hand reaching out to you has been burnt too.
This time the heart reaching out to you has been shattered too.
Maybe not exactly like yours.
 
But still.
Terribly bruised and barely healing.
A little like yours.
A lot like so many as scared and scarred as you and me.
 
And this broken heart finds the thread to hold it together by holding onto you.
This broken heart finds as much assurance in your shattered pieces as you seem to find in hers.
This broken heart does not know how to walk away from silence, or from darkness.
This broken heart sits through the darkness till the end of time if that’s what it means to be with you.
 
And THAT is how broken hearts love.
Maybe, broken hearts love too much.
Maybe, this broken heart loves you with every shattering piece left.
Even when that means every shattered piece crumbling apart over waiting for you to love her back.
 
And, maybe.
Broken hearts don’t just love too much.
Maybe.
Broken hearts accept too much too.

~ life in verses ~