Une contemplation profonde

Today, I speak, as the spectator.
Not the gladiator, wounded and breathless.

Love is a glass cage.
However thick, no matter how many years it has stood and endured the outside. Protected the inside.
Still.
No matter how strong we are, how wary and alert.
Glass is brittle.
And when the cage breaks, we are hurt, terribly.
Ripped by the shards we took so long, piece by piece, to put together to shield us.
To create our own little world, and yet not be blind to the outside.
Glass is beautiful.
It lets us see, and still be away.
In this cage, we are warmed by each other.
We are together.
But we can feel the coolness of the outside wind on our faces.
And that feeling of security creeps upon us until we can feel it no more. It is within us.

And then the cage collapses.
The glass breaks.
It cannot withstand too much pressure, especially, continous thrust from within.
Outside strain we can withstand, holding the walls with our bare hearts.
But that from inside? Our hearts are already too exhausted to try.

And we bleed. Not too much, not too less. Continual drops that suck out each moment that we shared. We are too preoccupied trying to stop the damage we experience, individually, to put in effort to build our little cage.
After all, glass will break. Again.

And we are weighed down.
Our hearts so heavy.
Not with the gravity of pain or suffering.
But with the massive weight of emptiness.
That in its absence, weighs more.