Heart and Mind Go to War
Where does your love lie?
Heart and Mind battle back and forth in a heated argument.
Tempers flare, shooting up in the air and exploding like fireworks on the fourth of July. Voices raise. Glares harden to the point of sharpened swords, sharp enough to cut through the thick tension. If looks could kill, it’d be a tragic night.
Heart says one thing. Mind doesn’t agree. Mind says another thing. Heart doesn’t agree. I don’t even know if they’re listening to each other anymore.
Heart’s debate is full of passion. Fists bang against the table. Tears well up in eyes. Mind’s debate is full of logic. Mind just keeps spitting cold facts like its building an igloo in the middle of nowhere.
I don’t even know how we keep getting back here. There’s no winner in this war- only losers. Casualties fill up the trenches. Useless ammunition litter the warzone. Bombs fall, but they don’t even flinch. Numbness hangs in the air like fresh radiation, and the effects may not be noticeable immediately but they will be eventually.
How does something make you so happy and kill you at the same time?
How do you end up on top of the world just to have it roll over on you seconds later? I don’t know. That question feels like one of those math equations that fills up the whole chalkboard. Maybe we’ll just erase the chalkboard and say it’s the sacrifice.
They say all is fair in love and war. Love isn’t fair, and sometimes it feels more like a war–a war with casualties filling up the trenches. I love you so much that I can’t even measure it. I don’t know if this is the right decision. It’s like a chess move- I won’t know until I get to the end of the game.
But if you ask me if I think it’s worth it, I wouldn’t be able to bring myself to say no.
All the sleepless nights and the mental warfare and the confusion- I think it’s worth it in the long run. Even if we get to the end game and I have to lay my king down, I can’t say it’s not worth it. It’s like a rip in the canvas of a painting someone spent countless hours working on. The painting is still beautiful, but the rip is always there — in the back of your mind, tugging at your attention.
–BFoundAPen
Written on 6–14–17
