Fading from kiss to kiss
SPARE a thought for the broken-hearted. Those that have loved and lost and yet, gain not a shred of comfort from that old theory that it’s better to have experienced it, than not. There is no comfort to gain, certainly not whilst the wounds are still raw and the nerves exposed and tender, and the shattered, fractured remains of a relationship, lay scattered all about the floor.
These are the ones in pain. Crying themselves to sleep at night, and not wishing their red eyes to be dragged open into the light of each following day. It burns, it hurts, it aches. It stings, gnaws and numbs.
A bit like all the nasty things we experience and learn from in life, but unlike the child who has learned his or her painful lesson from the flame, we go back for more, well, most of the time. Maybe slightly more wary, maybe not.
Perhaps our scars of battle make us subconsciously cautious. And if that becomes our nature, what are we to do?
There is nothing to do. Love is like a heavenly star. We shine with it and we fade with it. It burns brightly and it implodes and burns out. Millions and billions of stars, ruining us, tearing us apart like an almighty, cosmic, confetti mess. Out of our control and beyond our comprehension. Do we play its game, or steer clear? Dip our toe in its ocean, or dive right in from a cliff top?
WB Yeats wrote ‘Never Give All The Heart’ whilst obviously suffering from P.R.D. (post-relationship-disorder!) and warns of the dangers of giving wholly, committing fully, hooking, lining and sinkering, which can only lead to eventual burn-out and rejection. But, in a way, I take issue with that.
I do not adore this poem because it seemingly would have us semi chicken-out and delicately wear some shield of self-protection against disappointment by not committing fully with all of our heart next time, by holding something back, by keeping something in reserve like an emergency tank of oxygen, or the last cigarette in the pack!
No, I do not agree with its message, (if that is what it truly is), no, I adore it because in it, the writer laments giving his full, complete heart and now writes from a position of heartache, a place of vulnerability, and wanders, lost, in a world of rejection. Rather than it being a warning cry advising coyness, I see it as a testimony to the complexity and vastness of ‘les histoires de coeur’, written using a pen loaded with pain, not ink.
Never give all the heart, for love Will hardly seem worth thinking of To passionate women if it seem Certain, and they never dream That it fades out from kiss to kiss; For everything that’s lovely is
But a brief, dreamy, kind delight. O never give the heart outright,
For they, for all smooth lips can say, Have given their hearts up to the play. And who could play it well enough If deaf and dumb and blind with love? He that made this knows all the cost, For he gave all his heart and lost.
And so now, the heartbroken, fear that their all was never enough, nor good enough. It hurts and perhaps the answer is for us to hold something back in reserve? Not get completely burned again.
Although it does sting, it repeatedly happens in all areas of our existence, not just romance, and, it also ultimately stays beyond our control. The wonder of it all!
But that choice remains our remaining choice, to retreat to a state of deafness, dumbness and blindness, or, to catch the tail of a shooting star. Our choice.