When we look deeply at falling in love, we find so many story lines streaming at how you arrive at a single point -- in love. Twists keep good company on an ever present adventure. An urge pulls you straight on. Trepidation gives way. We find ourselves arriving somewhere -- a newfound bottom resonance. Whether you're a fighter, or a lover, you have met a match, for at least a moment lighthearted and carefree.
But falling apart? That phrase invokes horror scenes of space shuttles. The worst trails just keep drifting, shrapnel hurtling -- in this case -- right for your ethereal heart. Tearing at wounds. Reopening healing for a later date. Pixel burnt images dancing around. You are soon possessed with an undeniable urge to run, recoil, and relive all at once -- a twisted marionette. Every single direction, but apart is the space you must find. You can't get over apart; you must fall instead towards acceptance. It hurts just as much as denial, but without that pathetic haze.
Failure must lie with acceptance. In truth, in reality, falling apart is as natural as falling in love, but hell how it feels unnecessary. Treading the same beaten path, bristled pine cones, again. Then, like a shot, emotion of any kind lends understanding to the reasoning of this restless walk; however, until you get there, acceptance, you're like that fighter above, only alone with no great prize.
Take control of the line -- let space become solace. Find yourself again truing friends, erecting projects. Bleed out your shyness, and you will be right where you were all along -- apart.
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