December 18, 2011 1:25 pm EST
I used to think the rejection was the worst part. As I listened to countless love songs, longed for a return of your touch, wished for what you said over and over again you didn't want, my heart sank. I fell to a dark place, a place where I forgot who I was.
So the rejection wasn't the worst part. Neither was the unfulfilled longing, the unrequited want. The worst part was when you told me not to write you any more poems. The worst part was when I put down my art, my passion, my essence, my poem.
How can I live and not fulfill my destiny? How can I be full and not write?
I can't. And I won't.
To be the me I must be I have no choice but to create, to share, to write, to express.
And if it's not for you I will find another. I will find someone who feels my song, whose heart and mind I can touch, immerse, enmesh in the passion that burns in me.
I am dimmed, but not extinguished.
I will burn again. And I will dance. And I will sing.
And yes. I will write.
Love and giggles,