Unrequited Love.

After too many drinks, usually a sign of reminiscing and sentimetality, he becomes "philosophical" and ponders:

What is unrequited love?

A love for another that is not returned, and some cases scorned, scoffed at and... most of the time, and this is the hardest, you are ignored as if you never existed...as if those memories in time never happend, except in his imagination; but he knows this not to be true.

You become a non-person, another body, a non-entity.

To truly Love someone, one would give up everything to touch them, give up one's riches, ones dreams, to simply be with them...

The rain slams, carried by a gust of wind, against the window like thunder...again.

He truly believed that to love someone with all one's soul, and the Love is from the heart, no matter what happens, no matter the time or place, True Love will always prevail, because REAL LOVE, is something rare and worth fighting for.

After some years, he thinks, was my love true?

Yes, he believes...more real than life itself.

How can this be?

Her love was never true or he believed she thought it was true but it was not Love because she let the world in...

He was never priority, this was not REAL LOVE, but perhaps a type of infatuation.

He now sits in his old chair watching the Weather Channel on his little TV, as the rain beats againt the kitchen window, reminding him of a beautiful time with her...that beautiful day in the forest, a picnic, wine, song and kisses...

His old cat jumps on his lap, reminding the old boy that it is time to go to bed. He carries his worn body to his bedroom, sits on its edge and puts his wet face in his hands.

He fights back the tears but they are unrelenting and continue to flow.

"Why, after so many years, do I feel such pain?!"

Real Love goes both ways, in this life time, what he would not face, accept or believe was the love of his life, could not return such Love and left him alone, and moved on, perhaps disappointed, perhaps not.

Unrequited Love.

He does not want to forget her but the rain continues beating on the kitchen window - in furious waves.

The pain fades as he falls asleep, alone, with only the image of his beloved in his mind, even after so many years.

The rain stops, the images fall into nothingness, as he falls into a deep, forgetful sleep.



TRUE lOVE:

SONNET CXVI.

Let me not to the marriage of true minds Admit impediments. Love is not love Which alters when it alteration finds, Or bends with the remover to remove: O no! it is an ever-fixed mark That looks on tempests and is never shaken; It is the star to every wandering bark, Whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken. Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks Within his bending sickle's compass come: Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks, But bears it out even to the edge of doom. If this be error and upon me proved, I never writ, nor no man ever loved."

William Shakespeare