Love Undeserved

Dim lighting in an abandoned barn house. Shattered glass and chipped walls invite an all too familiar eeriness into the room. As I hunch over on all fours underneath an uncomfortably low ceiling, my eyes stay fixed on the array of colorful spiders nestled in webs above my head.

Deadly vulnerability.

They scatter at the sound of my high-pitched shrieking as my flesh is sliced opened by an old rusty nail sticking out of broken floorboards. Only a fool limits their sight to what’s right in front of them.

Blood drips, my stomach churns at the sight. However, frenzied by the wet proof that my body is still alive, fighting the immeasurable fight, I watch as the deep red absorption takes place within my washed-out denim jeans. I know pain and surely I can feel its effects, comparably equal to my knowing of comfortability and the natural inclination I have towards it. Aware that one cannot exist without the other, I begin to understand why I, subconsciously, yearn also for pain. The burning sensation as my tissue is exposed to the cold breeze running from the cracks in the walls, quickly followed by the bloody aftermath all in order to allow for an even deeper pleasure-filled euphoria birthed from comfortability.

More carefully now I watch me step, giving equal attention to the inanimate objects all around as to the lively critters lurking about. The sun has gone down. Once dim lighting now only enough to make out the narrow path to where a palette of blankets and a small round pillow await. I prefer it this way, the darkness. I came here for something that in the light cannot reside.

Fear.

Ever since I was a little girl I’ve been afraid of the dark. Nothing sparks fear in me more than the uncertainty of things unknown. Having yet to be brought into the light, darkness is but a physical representation of that ever so haunting mystery. Unlike the relationship between pain and comfortability, fear is but the absence of love. Meaning that as long as love is burning fear is, not only unnecessary, but completely annihilated.

I settle down on my fleece pallet with my head positioned on the pillow facing upward towards the ceiling I can no longer see, fully submitted to the terrors of the night. Because love taken for granted is love wrongly granted, I summon this fear. In hopes that it will teach me to cherish sweet love the next time, if ever again, it so happens to gently kiss me on the lips, I lie still and await for the paralyzing horror to consume my entire being.

Creaking sounds, a dark shadow wisping past a once beautifully gloss-finished rocking chair, more spiders, and that ever so piercing loudness found in the stillness of silence. Enough to make every bone in my body shudder yet tense up in fear all at the same time. I begin to feel faint.

“Breathe,” I tell myself, “Don’t forget to breathe.” I came here for something and without it I will not leave.

Do you get it now? Are you beginning to understand that without love your life is nothing but an old abandoned building at midnight with no one to hold and nothing to do but desperately pray for the night to be over.

I feel something wet and reach down to touch my blood-soaked pant leg. Once again I am reminded that focus, although beneficial in and of its own, can be deadly when your fixation causes you to lose sight of the whole picture. Frightened by the amount of blood loss, I attempt to get up. A sharp pain like a blade of glass zaps up from my leg through my back and into my neck. Every inch of my clammy body winces in pain so horrid I am unable to do anything but gasp for air. Air that seems to be running out by the second. Still hyperventilating I try once again to get up, receiving nothing but that same bone-crushing, breathtakingly torturous shooting pain. This time I scream. I scream for dear life knowing that only a maniac would be out this far from all of civilization in a secluded building at now 3:30 in the morning. Still, knowing that my body will not survive much longer at the rate of blood loss, I scream even louder. Begging for someone, anyone, to save me from the desperation in my loveless soul.

I am now weak, shaking frantically from the breeze yet submerged in a cold sweat. My lips are parched, I can’t remember ever being this thirsty. Exhausted and feeble, I eventually accept the fact that I am dying.

Eyes barely open I see something coming down from the stairwell. A light, a tiny glimpse of hope within the darkness. I do not have the energy to summon a hello, not even a soft whisper. I simply continue to lie there and watch as the light draws nearer. I am now able to make out a face and what I see sends chills down my spine. What I see I can’t accept because what I see I do not understand. It is me, smiling, glowing, unbloody.. happy. What I see I don’t understand so I reject it. I decide to close my eyes and allow sleep to take me away.

I am quickly brought back by a gentle tapping on my shoulder. I force my eyelids to open, fully convinced that this time a stranger is at my beckoning. Once again I am confronted by someone who looks just like me, except it’s not me. It can’t be, how is this possible?

She says something I can’t make out. She must have been able to tell by my empty response that I did not understand. She leans in closer, cuffs my ears with her warm soft hands, and whispers, “Darling, if love were something to be granted than not one would be deserving. Forgive yourself so that the gift of love can move freely. I love you dearly, it’s time to get up now.”