He stared out over the sea, wishing for his ending. It was amazing to him, that any one person could have
suffered so much, in such a short time. After all, he knew that it was a vanity, of sorts. He knew that
there was no way that he had suffered as much as many he had known, but it felt the same, after all. There
were many who had suffered, in his eyes, more than he, but he hadn't lived their lives. He knew only that
which had happened to him. As much as he could sympathize with the plight of others, in the end, he could
only truly relate to that which he had experienced himself.
The light, reflected from the waves, seemed to deny him that final rest he so sought after. He knew that he
had much to offer the world, yet he had been denied so many times, so many times. The world had no interest
in which he had to teach, and he knew that it never would. He knew this in his heart, not in his mind. It
was a knowledge born of the soul, not of the elusive intellect that inhabited his skull. There was so much
yet to teach, to learn.
The world held not his interest. He knew that he would eventually pass into the unknown, with his mission
on this Earth unfulfilled, those he was meant to touch forever ignoring his reaching hand. The very thought
filled him with despair, causing him to wish to end his life, to bring a swift end to it all. He was
afraid, although he desired to hide it from his conscious mind.
He knew that he would never feel that which he longed to feel, that singular love that knew no release,
that knew no freedom from bondage. He longed for that feeling, never realizing what it was he desired.
The love that binds, that asks for no return, no desire. He did not know that he could never experience
that love without a total loss of self, without a total loss of the knowledge that all was right with the
world, that he had made a difference.
It was, perhaps, a blessing, that he never felt these things. The love that knows no bounds knows no pity.
It makes one forget that one exists, and causes the loss of identity that is often associated with cheap
dime-store novels.
This love exists, and it is a pitiful thing, indeed. After all, this type of love is rarely returned. The
one loved never acknowledges that they are loved this way, and it is exceedingly uncommon for the one so
loved to return such love. It usually taken for granted, as cruel as it may sound. Such love is rarely
recognized for what it is, and is instead taken to be a lesser form of love, the love of the body, or the
intellect, never as love of the soul.
So he sat, gazing over the waves, wishing for God to take him from this existence, never realizing that he
held a gift more precious than life itself. To love in such a way, is a gift given to few, to those whom
God feels can accept such a gift. Such suffering, brought to life in the world, is all but unknown in this
age. One can get a glimpse of such love in the plays of Shakespeare, who understood the depths of love.
Read Romeo and Juliet, to understand the lengths to which a true love will go to see fulfillment. Romeo
and Juliet DIED to remain together, to pass onto the next life together, rather than face the prospect of
living apart. This is a noble act, and one that deserves the greatest of respect and admiration. After
all, who loves enough to pass into DEATH to follow the one their heart belongs to? I know, this may sound
a little crazy to those of you who have never felt this way, but it is, nonetheless true. Love is a
many-headed beast to which we must all pay homage. It leaves none of our lives untouched, and affects
all of our lives in ways that no one of us can completely fathom.
To love without the possibility of return, that is the greatest tragedy of human existence. The giving of
the heart to one who neither want nor desires it is the greatest waste of the soul, yet, in a way, it also
the greatest triumph. It depends upon your point of view. How do you see it?