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i've always believed that love lost is unpleasant,
painful as little as a lachrymal biopsy,
and as much as an emotional disembowelment
or lobotomy of the heart.

i am told that a love who walks out or finds love,
initiates a season of mourning and pain.

tears.
fears.
loneliness.
isolation.
abandonment.
uncertainty.
depression.
forsaken.
unlovely.
unwanted.
betrayed.

damn.

but, what if, just what if love lost is wisdom gained?
what if abandonment was the necessary path to faith?
or uncertainty the road to confidence?

should i have regrets about the past?
should i doubt that all things are predestined?
and should i lament providence through pain?

all for a purpose,
i have no regrets.

if i must suffer betrayal, loneliness, and love lost
to vividly and fully taste the rich and textured beauty of life,
and if i must endure betrayed affection,
in order to understand having it,
then may i lose love, time and again;
i choose to frolic and freely swim in the tides of depletion,
i submit to its tornadic and hurricanic winds;
and i yield to its tsunamic waves.

letting go of loss.
the winds carry its despair.
the waves swallow its torment.
to wash and rain cupid upon fertile hearts.

love lost is inoculation for my soul,

it bleeds,
it wounds,
it swells.
but averts phlegmatic infections and rigor mortis de la coeur.

so love lost becomes gain,
and gain loves again.

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