Post Romantic Nostalgia, and Reprieve

As the sun sets earlier in the evening, I can feel myself being wrapped in the same discomforting melancholy that always calls as Autumn rolls around each year.

The thing is, while the feeling is familiar, I cannot quite put my finger on what causes it, why I feel the melancholy of dark Autumn evenings.

This year, maybe it’s just the insanity of having been in love more times than this mind can bear, but as I attempt to share my life, yet again, with another sweet girl, I can’t help but think of past seasons. Then I remember that everything ends.

But nonetheless, I hold fast to everything; I hold fast as if I never got over the past, which, it may be said, I never really have.

And maybe one day psychiatrists will classify the post romantic nostalgia that haunts those intrepid warriors of modern romance who cannot turn their love off like a light switch; but for now, one thing is certain: I’ve never been missed like this.

And it really doesn’t get easier.

You see: I fear having to draw an increasingly heavy wagon of skeletons behind me, full of the bones of past loves; I fear going insane: driven mad by post romantic nostalgia.

My past loves are phantom limbs, missing from me.

And as I live and breathe now, attempting to love another, I can’t help but fear she too is destined to haunt me.

But then I remember: everything ends.

I am one who cannot accept that nothing lasts forever.

I am one who cannot fathom that everything ends.

I am one who cannot let go; I am one who loves forever.

And I MUST do something about this.

I MUST come to terms with the inherent endings in life.

Because I wanted to grow old with every woman I ever loved.

And I came to a point this year where I decided that I couldn’t sleep with girls who didn’t care about me, because – fuck, let me tell you, it doesn’t feel good for your soul to share yourself with those who don’t care one iota about your hopes and dreams and fears.

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thx Harriet V. for sending this pic to me : )

Only, I’m afraid sharing it all is just as frightening.

I’m scared of the ghosts of future past.

And I’m completely ungrateful for the ten years I’ve spent in love.

But I’m trying my damnedest to appreciate the reprieve I’ve been given.

My Reprieve

Born alone
Die alone

Nihilism’s a cold hard bed
But I sleep in anyway,
Because it’s just one more day
One more day I gotta love
One more fuck to give
And the ghosts don’t go away
The ghosts don’t go away

And the irony is: to my ghosts I am the dead one

The irony,
The grand tragedy of my life:
My memory lane remains a road to a mythological city
My own Atlantis
A place I never go,
And all I ever wanted was to look back

Who will I share my memories with
When ten years of my life are a rumor

But I remember
I remember it all

And it haunts me

So I have to figure out how to face it
Thus I write about my ghosts
And I’m tempted to say fuck you hoes
So tempted to stunt hard,
To break hearts with a Lambo and a black card

But it doesn’t make a difference,
Because ghosts are indifferent

So I’m becoming everything I can be
Since they don’t care if I spend my whole life in misery

Thanks,
Thanks,
Thanks,
Thanks,
Thanks for the memories

Now only to forget

To let go of regret

But I’m different,
Cause I’m better
I’m better,
I’m better.

And when you are cold,
I hope you wear our memories like a sweater
To comfort your lonely bones

But mine are threadbare
So I’m with a new brunette
And her heart is mine to wear

On my sleeve
On my sleeve
On my sleeve

Her love is my reprieve

And I know I may have to let go of it all,
Again and again

To love and live
To live and die
To try

It hurts like hell
When love dies

But for now
For now
For now:

She is my reprieve
And I still believe

In us.

##

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One thought on “Post Romantic Nostalgia, and Reprieve

  1. Pingback: Confessions of a Fool: Dating and Learning | 7Saturdays

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