When Love Is Not Enough

My love for him was deep-seated, primal, stemming from the very depths of my essence. The way it developed so effortlessly, so illogically; it demanded to be felt. It was the kind of love that sees all that you are and does not require you to be anything less. 

It was that all encompassing love, a lust and devotion so rare, so potent. A full mind-body-spirit connection. A love that heals and transforms any and everything. A love that elevates and inspires, that whispers in your ear that everything will be alright. 

With him I experienced a love that kept me up at night. A love that had me pouring to keep feeling; a love that caused my heart to give exulting cries for more; an addictive kind of love. It was transcendental, ethereal. I kept pouring for as long as I could. 

I poured all that I had into his fragmented cup; beautifully, delicately, always ensuring it was full and tending to its cracks with care; hoping, praying, that my love alone would hold the broken pieces together. I gave to the point of depletion, forgetting that I needed to save some for myself. Not realizing that pouring into a cracked vessel was unsustainable; that it could easily fall apart at any given moment in time.  

And it did. 

The moments when it shattered before me always caught me unsuspecting. I was already fully engrossed and entangled in his beautiful, torrential storm, in the intoxicating depth of emotion that he evoked in me. It was always an abrupt, calamitous breakage that left me empty, befuddled, numb. The equivalent of waking from a beautiful dream, only to discover that you are in a nightmare. That was what it was like to love him. 

Each time, on hands and knees, I carefully picked up the fragments and placed them back together, hopeful that if I kept on pouring, I would one day be able to seal the broken spots; that my love would prevent any more breakage. I was certain that in due time, the cracks would disappear and the cup could be whole once again. But it never happened. 

I slowly and reluctantly came to the harrowing realization that my love alone was not sufficient. That sometimes a laceration is so severe, so deep, it can overwhelm and overpower even a love so great. A love so pure. 

With him, I learned that you can give the most beautiful, raw parts of you away and sometimes never see them again. My love was real, true.

My love was everything, but sometimes, it is simply not enough.