Whenever she spent a weekend or the holidays at home, she would always return telling stories of how she heard her mother lying in bed crying throughout the night. Each time she would give an account of what happened during her visit. At the end of our conversation, she would always swear off by saying she was never going to get married and end up like that. It’s an indescribable feeling when you give your all to someone only watch yourself whither away under the wrath of their inconsiderate will. I believe just as there is a danger in loving someone too much, there is an even greater offense when one loses his or her desire to love again, due to tenderness of their abused heart.
I’ve seen the pain and felt what it does to those involved in trying marriages. I’ve also witnessed the fallout of broken homes as loneliness move in and out of lives with little to no discretion. I’ve even kissed the salty tears of loved ones as they wept in despair.
Love can change people without ever changing its form. While all the while flourishing in the midst of broken promises and abandoned dreams, leaving in its wake idled hearts nostalgically sorting through remnants of foregone feelings, shaping them into mental collages of emotional tapestry.
Much like a quilt of tradition, except with every memorable snapshot of an experience contributing to its form as a representation of a painful pattern. As a little girl my grandmother used to say, “What web we weave when we want what the world uses to deceive.”
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