Beautiful and tragic

The voice of reason always has the last word. My heart says what it wants to say, and then the voice of reason quashes all dissent. 

The voice of reason says her heart belongs to another, and it always has. It's a deep, abiding love I've only seen the surface of. Yes, she loves him with all she has, even though he hurt and humiliated her for years. It's a love as strong as any bond or trauma-bond I've seen. She cannot walk away. She cannot crawl away. She's fused to him forever because this was her promise to him. She's the most loyal person I know. She has proven over and over she belongs to him. It's beautiful and tragic at the same time. There is no competing with a love like that. I can't think of her without being awestruck.

The voice of reason tells me she'll never be mine. It tells my heart to pack it in, go on, at least try to move on. I have tried, of course, but every time I try my heart cries out like it will die. I love her with a love that refuses to die or turn off or turn to the side. I think she knows how I feel, only what she feels is not for me.

The voice of reason says, "Let's compromise." My heart won't budge. My brain drags this recalcitrant lump of stone around. My heart wills itself to her like the stickiest substance known to man. It simply won't let go. 

The voice of reason says, "Wake up, you're wasting your life." But my heart answers that there is no wasted life when one is in love. Yes, I could be with another woman, but when she touches me I'll feel nothing. When she laughs, I'll only hear noise and not a stirring in my soul.  

The voice of reason compiled all the things she said that tell me it's futile. It explains carefully and for the thousandth time she'll never be mine. I've memorized his voice and the words, but they cling to the surface. Under the surface there is nothing but heart and soul writhing with desire and screaming louder. 

The voice of reason says there are other fish in the sea. But my heart is 0bsessed like Ahab's in Moby Dick. If we're talking about books, then I am living The Rules of Attraction, where no one really gets what they want and no one gets back the love they give. Yes, beautiful and tragic. 

The voice of reason says she wounded you, and that gives you the right to walk away. I'm well aware of my rights, though, and I also have the right to feel what I want to feel toward her. There is nothing in me that wants to walk away. There is nothing in me that wants to let her go, even though I had to. There is nothing but tenderness toward her, leaking out of me with every step I take, leaving footprints everywhere I go.

It's clear I've changed. I'm not the same man I used to be. What's unknown is what kind of man I am now. Am I the kind of man who listens to his head or his heart? Will it always be this unrelenting battle between them? Will I ever let her be? Will I ever walk away? 

Loving someone doesn't make them love you back. I know that. I know she can't love me. I know who she loves. I'm not asking for anything in return; in fact, I'm not asking anything at all. I'm just sitting here by myself oozing out feelings for her without a thought for tomorrow. They say love is like madness, and I believe they are correct. It's like an illness, and something in us eventually turns it off, gets over it, moves on, battles the virus into submission with fever and lots of hot liquids. If I am mad, then I've given up and given in to it, fully aware I'll live the rest of my life a madman. 

The voice of reason doesn't know everything. It doesn't know me, clearly. My head and my heart can battle if they want, but it won't change anything. In this I am like her, for she fights the same battle. I wonder if her voice of reason sounds the same as mine. I wonder if her heart rages against it, assails it, stuffs its mouth full of rags until it is silent. 

Hearts are impossibly tricky things. Love springs up in them like weeds, and what we painstakingly tend to withers and dies. I know love is nothing but choices, day after day, to love someone. We choose them whether they choose us or not. Yes, it's beautiful in a way, but equally mixed with tragedy. How can something hurt and heal at the same time? I feel it mixing in me, saturating me, unsettling me. This war will go on, clearly, and some wars cannot be won.