I have signed up on Medium. In the process I have met some great writers who are as good with words as Friedrich “Fritz” Kreisler was with his violin. Most amazing I have come across Georgia Lorene who uses phrases such as distort to describe a change in habit. She is a mistress of expression who believes unashamedly in the promise of the love feeling too deep to get lost in. She talks of a “sea of lovers” on a bridge and from her inscriptions one can picture that so vividly.

I have met Tremanine L. Loadholt who has such a straightforward way of saying things that you have to think beyond the single sentence phrases to totally grasp the intended meaning.

In the search of a quenching piece, I have come across Oreluwa Fakorede a genius in his own might. In my previous post I shared words from his own mind that literally blew me away. He talks of the image of a woman that he chooses to carry around, talismanic and terrible in its ageless beauty.

Whereas all these expression geniuses say things differently, they are all true believers of love. They talk of the feeling so inspiringly, rousing and convincing others of numerous reasons why they should hold on and [or] fight for the truthfulness in the experience.

Going through what they have written, I get a sense of guilt for all the times I have lost, the hearts I have broken, the times I didn’t fight on long enough… I remember endless incidents I gave up too soon. In my own feelings and words, I had just had enough. I remember these times when I felt that there wasn’t any reason to stay on. When everything that happened pointed me towards the exit signage.

In these times I felt that staying on was more hurtful than throwing in the towel and the saying that ‘at times giving up is the ultimate show of strength’ encouraged me to just let go and never look back.

I remember this one time I had met this girl. Her name was Nelly. I won’t say she was beautiful because that would be a massive understatement. She dorned these big, frameless, clear glasses that had black temples. The first time I saw her she was talking to my landlord’s daughter. On her feet were trendy, female timberland boots, faded jeans, a round necked woolen sweater and those glasses.

I watched her from a distance but I couldn’t master the courage to even say hi. The next time I saw her was five months later and the only reason that happened was because I had asked for her number from a mutual friend and arranged the meet. She was smart, entitled, enlightened and interesting. We kicked it off outright. She had this laughter… A laughter that created a small vacation, a blessed relief from all the distress that shoved its way into my brain after endless office hours.

I believed in her, her emotional maturity, her clarity in viewing the world and her feminine tenderness that I felt every time I clasped her hand into mine. Coming from a privileged family meant that I couldn’t see her as often as I liked and she didn’t seem to put so much effort in seeing me. I remember struggling with suffocating feelings, unreciprocated desires, unquenched longings until in my own conscience I decided that I was at the precipice of breaking and I had to stop.

I remember asking a friend how much one should do so that they wouldn’t be later on blamed for not doing enough but he had no idea.

I struggled with my feelings on one hand and logic on the other. As the world is, the two would never balance on a scale. One has to be preferable. My heart demanded that I should fight on, give us a chance, keep the faith on and believe… My head on the other hand questioned the worthiness of the fight altogether. Then I was fighting two equally strong demons at the same time. I equated that to being torn between daylight and nightfall. I was supposed to choose between two impossible impulses.

All along I remembered Jim Rohns saying that the worst thing one can do is not to try, to be aware of what one wants and not give in to it, to spend years in silent hurt wondering if something could have materialized – never knowing. That’s what kept the hope alive but sooner I was done waiting. I was done trying. I was done hoping.

So I did what anyone else would do. I gave up with my head… whatever that means.

This experience makes me question the whole idea behind holding on, fighting on, not giving up and the like. It challenges my mind to ask when is enough just that? Enough? Is it worth fighting for all loves? When and how does someone decipher when it is okay to say enough? When is it acceptable to let go? Is it ever okay to just say enough with the BS? Is it ever okay to just let everything fall, ascend or disappear into oblivion? Is it  ever okay to just push everything aside and give up?

Will it ever be okay?

Image Credit: hrexach files


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