She wrote in here diary these very words.
this world i see,
though alone i be,
i am one with the breeze,
and being free!
It didn’t feel strange that alone in her existence, she was content. About her style, her looks, what she knew, how she smiled, what she liked, books she read, places she often visited…she was alright. She had no care in the world. She was happy single. She was so happy with whatever there was in her life. The feeling of contentment and self satisfaction in who she was were so intertwined in her that it radiated to those around her.
Then she met Stephen. He wooed her till she was head over heels. And what more could a girl want if a man was so interested in all she thought meaningful. It was a match made in heaven. The infusion of two souls, dancing gracefully to a melody playing. She felt he loved her for who she was. Bliss!
But somehow, clueless to explain what happened, he walked out on her. Break-ups are like that sometimes. The quest for anything reasonable becomes all things meaningless. She had all these questions running or rather rambling, tugging, crashing, in her. All she could conjure as answers to her question was “Why?” A question met with another question. This went on for weeks. She was not keeping count.
Suddenly it felt strange, she did not know how to be content. She hated her style, her looks, what she knew, how she smiled, what she liked, books she read, places she often visited…she was not alright. Anxiety reeked in her very soul. She was not happy being single. She despised whatever was there in her life. The feeling of contentment and self satisfaction in who she was were so shattered that it broke her into a million pieces. A dark cloud now loomed over her very presence.
And now, alone again she wrote in her diary:
there used to be a time when,
it was OK to walk alone,
at one amid the breeze
and being free.
what was joy to me then,
are tastes of death,
for what I was,
is now lost in him.
a reflection is seen in the mirror
i see myself
but it is not me.
The fictional story above is my attempt to offer my own interpretation of what Peter Rollins has reflected in this fine post he wrote. It ends with these words:
Hence the profound danger of love: the one we desire above all else has the power to take away our ability to desire anything at all.