Mort D’Amour

Through the lessons of such heartache and pain. I have come to see that love is true. Not to be true in the sense once previously believed.

Romance is dead. Eros is an illusion. The detachment of Philia is all we can allow ourselves to know, embrace and endure.

The road to self destruction lies in the pedestal of a romantic lover. A lover patterned to leave the moment you evolve outside of their capacity.

When their projected inferiority is all they can see. When your unconditional embrace is met with stone.

I found myself facing the fact that I, truly did not believe we would survive. With each treacherous fight.. I accepted my fate of being forced to learn how to live a life with this new perspective. With the reality of it all. I grieved marriage and our love. His lack of faith within. A doubt he denies, however his distance from me, undeniable. He questioned every part of me. And with every judgmental strike of failure, he forced me to question myself. To fight for my self worth. My Melinoe.

He detests that is the lore from my lips. His ego is bruised to know he is capable of such hate and destruction. And how easy it is for him to cast onto me. He is aware of the monster he is. The beast, filled with self loathing. Incapable of the emotional intellect required to be worthy of a Balanced Romantic Haven. To bond a Union. To be one of Bliss.

It was my Will, my Magick.. that set to save us. The angelic love of my soul. My ability to waver the storm and dance with the currents of the wind. And when the win came to fruition, the realization of all that pain comes creeping to the surface. The realization that despite such devoted love within my heart, this man proved his own inner bias. He was not lying to me. Nor insecure. I was disillusioned. He was honest in showing me the devil he is. The devil I have chosen to love and to ignore. To be the sacrificial lamb upon his altar. The vile evil of the death of love.

I have not, nor will not remove the tattooed ring upon my finger. She is to remain eternally etched within my blood. All the while I haunt the remainder of my path as the ghost of our love. The world may gasp in wonder and awe as to how a goddess so lovely could remain so alone. I have no doubt I could find someone who could love me “better.” The issue is not in appeal of others. The problem is, I am dreadfully doubtful I will ever find someone I could possibly love more.