Monday, 15 August 2016

How we love. . .

I knew a man who was afraid to love
To lay his heart on the bathroom rug
He drank his coffee in the same old mug
And sat in silence 'til the world fell numb

Being afraid to love is quite a natural thing for people to experience.  To love someone means that you are willing to allow yourself to be hurt and have your heart smashed into a million different pieces or obliterated into oblivion, into unseen-to-the-human-eye particles that we know are still there but too afraid to look at because it would just confirm exactly why we shouldn't have ventured into anything in the first place.

Until the day when a girl came by
She had eyes like the rising tide
He felt a sharpness deep inside
The kind of ache that can't be satisfied 

Have you experienced that before?  When you look at someone and it does some funny stuff to your heart and you don't quite know how to deal with that? Mostly because we know our faces aren't poker faces at all and there must be some invisible string that links your facial expressions to your heart (I'm sure of it, there's no other explanation for it).  Some of us are just better at hiding our true feelings than others.  What would it take to satisfy that kind of ache?  Do we know what to do to ease that pain?  Or do we just stay wounded because to do anything would lead to admitting that there are feelings there, but we can't do anything about it, because we just can't.

We hate the rain when it fills up our shoes
But how we love when it washes our cars
We love to love when it fills up the room
But when it leaves oh we're cursing the stars

It's a matter of perception isn't it.  How we choose to treat love - whether we welcome it with open arms or we try to avoid it at all costs.  We seem to be okay with love when it serves a functional purpose and it makes life easier somehow, because we would allow that other person who loves us to do absolutely everything - because they want to, because they think you're incapable of doing anything or have done absolutely nothing until they came into your life.  Do we hate that kind of love-dependency or do we get love drunk like Beyonce would have us believe?



So he turned to the radio
And he went to a picture show
Tried to find someone else who knows
All the hurt a heart can hold

How many times have we tried to distract ourselves from owning up to our feelings and how it makes us do crazy things (or not, because we won't let it).  So we try to seek out people who can help us understand how to heal, to understand how we can move on and over time maybe the hurts that our hearts hold will ease away, shrink those love tumours if they were cancerous and caught early enough.  Good luck finding someone who will be able to hold your hand through it all, even when you heart can't be held.

She smelled like cinnamon and winter clove
And sparked like firewood inside a stove
Wanted to ask her just to sit and stay
Instead he watched as she walked away

People will only stay if there is something worth staying for.  What would make you stay?  What would make you ask her?  What would you do instead of watching her walk away?  We are rarely ever honest about anything these days.  Why is that?  Is it because we are never really real in the first place?  Have we forgotten what it means to savour moments and memories full of smells, sights, sounds and touch?  The thing about touch is that you only remember it and recognise it from the last time you made contact in that way.  Instead, you are left with movie scenes of your own playing in your mind; adult ticket for one, sole seat in the house, projector playing your favourite yet torturous scenes.

We hate the rain when it fills up our shoes
But how we love when it washes our cars
We love to love when it fills up the room
But when it leaves oh we're cursing the stars

I hope that you learn to appreciate what rain does for you in your life.  It helps to wipe away things that may have hardened in time (much like your heart I suppose).  I hope that you learn how it feels to have love fill up a room; it will be a kind of warmth that even no fire could hope to beat, because there is something to be said about human love and what it can do to our insides and how that is expressed outwardly.  I guess it's just how we love. . .