Casualties of Love

Pulsating throbs are ever present reminding me of the costs. And yet all I can think about is when can we dance again.

Both realities are present and yet one completely overwhelms. I hurt and I love. And love is all that matters.

I wince but still drift into dreamy imaginations; Envisioning a place of surreal bliss, fully alive and carefree.

I recall the days of protective mediocrity, straddling the fence, always hidden from extremes.

But in a balanced aspiration I forsook the greatest pleasure. I didn’t know that vulnerability gave the greatest of delights.

I didn’t know that seeking comfort; seeking security would rob my soul. In exchange for mountain top living, I dwelled in a prison that I controlled.

The casualties of love will be the sacrifice of self. A self molded by a culture, blind to who we really are.

The casualties of love is false peace that we invent. We exchange an empty existence with fully living in the moment.

The casualties of love is living without pain. Like a mother giving birth, we never regret the outcome.