The Dangers Of Playing With Fire


Let us contemplate for a moment the twisted pathways of the heart. Let us ponder the chase for an elusive moment, look, word… Or kiss. Let us wonder at how the emotions can lift you up and take you for a wild ride where metaphors lurk under unassuming phrases and your breath hinges on the movements of another. Let us wallow in the deep sea of emotion churning just behind the iris, where each tide comes surging in eagerly to the light of the moon… Let us observe this wave crashing into the solid reality of a sandy beach, whipped into a froth of agitation.

Imagine the scattering of lines and freckles, little imperfections on the topography of flesh, as a road map that can be read in brail. Wandering the roadways of another’s body, exploring the high peaks and the valleys that have never seen the light of day. Lounging beneath the shade of another’s grove, listening to the wind of their thoughts brushing the small hairs around your ears.

Songs that follow you on every radio, leaving echoes in the brain that linger into the silence… A confusion of thoughts, images, reflections… An impossible conundrum of choices and pathways, viewpoints and perspectives… So easy to get lost in the serpentine wandering a mind can take after a certain hour.

Let us contemplate the circles upon spirals one lifetime can make, where every movement or choice made in the past comes subtly from the background to fit itself perfectly into the present. A person could spend hours trying to unlock the mystery of these movements- or years, or pages- but all would be in vain.

Perhaps all this analyzing of the whole business is exactly where the problem lies, so for the sake of argument (or the lack of one) we will cease to attempt this articulation. Let us instead simply sit inside of this thing, at the epicenter of the confusion, and just let it be. Que sera, sera. In the end it will be exactly what it is, despite all the words we can think of to make it otherwise.

So now that we are done with the explanations, the excuses, the justifications and wrongdoings, what is left is that damnable feeling that started the whole mess… What to do with it? Should you leave it at their feet so they may do with it as they see fit? Would they throw it away do you think? Stash it in a corner, put it on a shelf… Would they hide it in a secret place?

In the conclusion of the moments, all that is left is how you feel, and it is up to you what you will do with it. You can ignore it, wish it away, embrace it, acknowledge it, accept it, fight it or face it- but you will live with the consequences of your choice.


So in our contemplations of the heart, we have come right back to where we started from: Clueless, overwhelmed and reaching for shapes in the mist. What has been the point of this futile exercise in emotional masochism? Have we learned anything from our descent into motivations and meanings? Are we left more comfortable with our ignorance, content to ride the flow of the current? Are we left starving and gasping, drowning in the sea of change? Are we prepared to drop our walls or stock them with heavier artillery?

When do we reach the breaking point?

Love doesn’t have to be a battlefield, it can stand alone in it’s own simplicity. Un judged and unfettered by labels. However that word is fire, and best not played with lightly. It can keep you warm on a cold night or scar you forever with the flames of desire… That is a lesson I have learned well.

My pen hand has become gasoline, and truth is searing the pages along with my ragged heartstrings, and I couldn’t tell you anymore what the point of it all may be. I suppose at some point you just have to give in, and that is exactly what I have done.

For better, or for worse.







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