My Own Dark Love Song

I wrote this the day that my horse had a serious surgical procedure. It's written poorly but I'll never change a word of this anyway-- it's so raw that, eight months later, it rips my heart out of my chest just as violently as the day of his surgery.

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There's nothing quite like seeing all your happiness fall in between the crevices and gaps of your life.

I really hate seeing you with needles in your back. I hate seeing every muscle between your ribs spasm uncontrollably and the way you kick out in protest when I even touch you.

Yet when you're drugged; I hold your head for you. I am, as usual, in awe of your effortless perfection. You are currently a little scraggly around the outer edges of your lips, but that's still my favorite place to kiss you. The hairs on your forelock meet in a clockwise spiral with a little bald spot in the middle. Your eyes are light brown, your pupils slightly glazed over.

You are very kissable here, in this sacred soft spot between your left ear and the beginning of your mane. It is always warm and soft there. It never changes. I want to barracade myself inside it, inside of what you have given me just by existing.

I whispered to you today. I whispered my fears of losing you, but more importantly, my fears of willingly letting you go. I whispered prayers that you'd realize how important you are to me, how much I can love you if you just didn't feel this pain anymore. I whispered prayers that you would listen. I whispered prayers that you could even hear.

Sometimes, I swear you can understand every word I speak and every move I make. I can predict you. I can communicate with you. I feed off your resillience and struggle in your indifference.

I love you more than anything in the world, but what am I? I have given up caring, for you and your sweet eyes look at me and I feel like I can go another moment knowing I am acknowledged by something so much greater than myself.

And then you break.

What if I should decide that I don't want you there in my life?

It's a decision, not a choice. A decision is carefully measured, thoroughly contemplated and eventually, one "decides" depending on what hurts the least and what can let one continue his or her pristine life with the least amount of effort as possible. A choice is reckless and one "chooses" depending on what elates the soul the most.

I choose you. I choose the bills, the heartache, the lack of progression, the risk and the disappointment.

But I live in a world of decisions.




Please heal. If not for me, then for yourself.
Just keep thinking, in complete ignorance, that I will never give up on you.