Some people need constructive love. Constructive is not the appropriate word I suppose but I really don't have any other word for that.
They want love that balances, that fulfills, that completes, that soothes, that makes the wrongs right and sutures the wounds.
They might settle, they might even yearn, but they will never suffer for want. It is a blessing in a way. To think that pain is just pain and nothing else. To think that love is harmony, something that will always be good, that will always be the light at the end of the tunnel.
It is intense in its own, romantic way. There are butterflies and cherry blossoms. It doesn't have to be this beautiful all the time, but it's always soothing. It is a wonderful sigh, this love.
Everybody should probably know this kind of love. Most might, but there are some who never will. They will know the other kind of love.
Love which is and will always be fatally destructive. Love which will tear them apart, claw at them from the inside and not stop till they have shredded themselves out.
It is a long, low, deep howl; this love. It is so appalling that by the end of it they're not sure how to tell the pain apart from the love.
But the people who indulge in this love will die without it. They will die with it, but they will die without it. They don't have an option, there is only one path for them to choose. They have to walk that road, on the thorns, through the fire, and be consumed by it in sheer ecstasy that defies all reason.
This love will always end badly, but then that is how it was supposed to. They knew it from the beginning, they hungered more and desired more and knew that the faster they chew through one end, closer it brings them to the other. But they still went on, because they didn't know how to stop.
On one hand, there is warmth, a heady scent that promises to last all the way.
On the other hand there are needles of pain, that will draw blood and pleasure alike.
On one hand, you have choices.
On the other hand, there is never a choice.
On one hand, there are fireflies that will light your way, flit through and make you delight and wonder.
On the other hand, there is a sharp, bright flame that will flare up and extinguish like an old, unfortunate parchment.
On one hand, there is a languorous satiation.
On the other hand, there's a never ending want.
On one hand there is pure, crystal water
On the other hand there is coppery, inconsistent blood.
It's really quite clear which love you should opt for, but it was never your decision to begin with.
If I had to make a choice between you and me,
I would always choose me,
for there is no you without me
The Identity of Indiscernibles
2 months ago