Empathy and the Power of Love

Empathetic love is a concept most will not be familiar with yet will understand regardless. Comprehending others in life is a natural aspect of everyday living. To move forward is to understand, on a larger scale, the world. Once the world is relatively understood, the easier it is to keep on track. By keeping on track, an ever-adjusted goal is usually put in place to continue the constant march forward.

Regardless of the previous paragraph, the process of constant questioning will pester the ideology and dream of said goal. Where shall one draw the line of questioning? Who has the value of maintaining and checking reality? What will be the reason or cause to continue in the formative journey?

Within the epidemic of searching for love, staying the loneliness of the dark bedroom, comes with its challenges. Having courage to step up and simply inquire has preemptive discouragement, leading to the spiral of an inner monologue towards rejection, albeit as brave an act as it is. To find the silver lining, the light at the end of the metaphorical tunnel that is hopefully not a train, is another challenge.

Rejection is difficult to deal with, no matter how necessary it is in the wholistic aspect of life. To watch as a guarded man opens up only to have the interested party gently let them down is difficult. To see that man march forward after learning of the marriage to another close to both is penetrating and saddening. To see that man stumble forward after learning of their pregnancy is encouraging, yet heartbreaking. To see that man carefully shift in outlook to find love elsewhere is encouraging, yet sombre. However discouraging, dismal, or grim it may be, to see that man continue to show more of himself is maddening, harrowing, yet remarkable.

Empathetic love is a concept most will understand regardless, despite not being familiar with the details.

“Dave,” Carlyle sighed, squinting to the scruffy and unkempt person across from him, “what are you going on about?”

“Mm,” grunting in return, scratching his beard, Dave clasped his hands in the lap of his worn jeans. “Sorry, zoned out there for a second. A monologue was necessary.”

“I know,” Carlyle stated with understanding. Leaning back in the dark leather chair, “I’ve seen too many fall in the name of unappreciated love.”

Dave held on to the chin of his beard, careful with the following, “I’ve been that man before. Rejected endlessly, told that he is the perfect candidate, then rejected again because that person wants someone ‘like you but not you’.” Furrowing his prominent brow, “How does one deal with that, Carlyle?”

“As you’ve so eloquently put within your internal prose,” Carlyle chuffed with his companion, “rejection is difficult to deal with, regardless of necessity. Yet, you seem to find the metaphorical light at the end of the tunnel.”

“It’s scary...”

“Good.”

“It’s atrocious...”

“Good.”

“It’s demoralising...”

“Good.”

“However,” Dave, clasping his hands together, leaned forward resting his elbows on his knees, “is there another way to live?”

“If there is...” Carlyle trailed off, pondering. Snapping to attention, clearing his throat, “I-if there is another way to live, it must be hell.”

“Or close to it.” Dave chuffed. Dropping his face into his hands, heaving a shuddering breath, “Upon the sands of life,” meeting the curious eye of the trimmed man before him, “where should the line be drawn?”

“I’ll answer with a question of my own,” Carlyle mirrored Dave, “Where in the sand are you willing to leave behind your struggle?”