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Why this sadness inside me when just a moment ago I was filled with joy?  Why can’t I let anything good go unquestioned, unproved, untried, unspoiled?  Why must I always feel the pain so much more intensely than the ecstasy?  Why does any happiness no matter how brief scare me into running away?  And why when I hurt are there no tears?

My heart is broken.  No . . . not by another, but rather by life and myself.  It has been fractured so often there may be no fixing it.  I bind it together with sarcasm, wit and humor.  I try not to let the sorrow reach the surface.  I try to bury it hidden deep within me.  No matter the reason or extent of the misery, still there are no tears.

I’m not sure when or why I stopped crying.  I’m not sure I think there is really anything wrong in that I cannot weep.  I’m not sure why I fear letting any other see my anguish or know of my agony.  I’m not sure what it could change, either to help or to harm.  I’m not sure it makes any difference in my life and maybe its better that there are no tears.

Tears and love so entwined in me that the inability to shed a tear seems directly coupled to my failure always to let love thrive.  I live on the extreme edge of my emotions, looking in at them from the safety of outside.  I love only briefly before the defensive shields are raised protecting, but also isolating me.  So it is I stay safe and there are no tears. 

Those trials and lessons sent to me, I have come to accept.  I have grown with each and am better for them.  Early, I found I could safeguard myself from suffering too much by closing the door to my heart and watching life from my mind’s window.  I have not since found reason or strength to re-open that door.  Still, in my life there are no tears. 

Now he stands before me with the reason . . . his love most pure, his strength so sure.  How can I do anything but try to open the door long closed . . . to release a heart so bound . . . to yield to him my soul? To accept what he offers though, I must be prepared to embrace not only he’s gift of heart’s true affection, but also perhaps the return of my tears.

 

 
 
Your hand

My face

First touch

Hearts race

 

Right now

This place

Love’s sweet

Embrace

 

Take me

To you

All walls

Break though

 

Right now

All new

Sweet love

So true

 

Our souls

Converge

As must

We merge

 

Right now

Lust’s urge

Love’s sweet

Soft surge

 

At last

We meet

Two lives

Complete

 

Right now

Hearts greet

Sweet love

Replete

It matters not the earliest flowers are pushing their way up through the soil towards the promise of the sunny days to come.  It matters not that the harsh cold is yielding to the first signs of spring’s warm glow.  In my heart, the frost and shade still hold sway.  In my heart, the gloom casts its ominous shadow. This is all that is left to me now that you are gone.  It is winter in my soul.   

I remember it was not so very long ago.  My heart was as a fresh young maiden, ripe and blushing, ready for anything life had in store for me.  I was happy and content in my way.  I thought I had what I needed. I believed those things that tormented me were behind me.  I was ready for life’s next grand adventure.  All was golden sunshine and bright, new possibilities.  It was spring in my soul. 

Then there came such a wondrous warmth into my heart.  It was the spark of a brand new love and you brought it to me.  I basked in the radiance of those emotions that grew to a blazing, dazzling illumination that lit the entire world around me.  I committed myself to this perfect passion without reserve.  No matter there was snow on the ground and a chill in the air.  It was summer in my soul. 

Somehow, the heat of our infatuation waned in you.  You gave no reason only withdrew yourself from me, your heart moving to a place both aloof and cool.  My affection and devotion was no match for your angst and fear.  I held you for but a short time longer.  Each day the light dimming.  Each night the fervor fading.  Each moment the season turning.  It was autumn in my soul. 

It matters not that spring is now the season.  I do not feel it.  It matters not that others in the world still love.  I do not feel it.  It matters not that I put forth the smiling mask for the benefit of those around me.  I do not feel it.  For me there is only the harsh, barren wasteland left behind in the wake of your passing and the question, how long must I suffer this bitter winter in my soul?

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