Edvard Munch: The Day After (1894)
Ok, ok, maybe I'm being a bit melodramatic, but every once in a while it's ok to let yourself indulge in the full range of human emotion. I don't fall in love easily. It's hard for me to find a match to my esthetics, creativity, love of nature, beauty, philosophy, and a general excitement for life, not to mention physical attraction, call me picky. It's been a while since I've opened myself up to love, not willing to lay bare my sensitivity. I slipped a took a sip from that cup, like the seduction of wine which slowly tempts you to drink more and more, each sip rendering you a little less capable of comprehending the consequence of your action, I became drunk. I surrendered my fears to what felt natural and right, intoxicated with passion, delirious with the comfort and pleasure of a soul with witch I could connect, even respect. But the demon spirits which lift you up, to a state of unnatural happiness for one night, leave you reeling and hungover in the morning. So it was with my intoxication. Sunday, like our lady pictured above, I moped around, my mind processing the cocktail of tenderness and torture, hope, rejection, confusion, and passion I had consumed, in the same painful way the liver processes poison from ones system. Now I'm back on my feet, a bit of my ego died in the process and I'm better for it. I've dropped my feelings of rejection and my childish attachments (at least that's what I'm telling myself) Maybe this is all a bit too revealing for a public forum, but life is more than pretty pictures and pleasantries. It is our choice to delight in the experience of our own humanity, to grow, renew and release. I do not regret a single experience that has led me to deeply feel. I do not discount a single moment of love in this life time. Love, like energy can never be destroyed.