Tempestuous love
Tempestuous love love stories

aramirez Community member
Autoplay OFF   •   3 months ago
A short poem on the yearning for a love that was not possible and how betrayal became the resolution to breaking out of the painful cycle of falling for the same fruitless love

Tempestuous love

He was my first love. He was the first to make my heart feel like everything it desired could come to fruition. Without a second thought, I took a bite of that mythical apple.

But soon it became rotted. It was not what I had imagined after all. There was pain and angst in that bite.

But it was a familiar pain that I came to yearn for in my life and so I continue to chew. The thought of letting go seemed fatal.

Instead, I endured this familiar pain no matter how hard it was to swallow.

I imagined what else was possible outside of this world that I had come to know, but anything beyond this taste was unknown, uncomfortable, unfamiliar. I was tempted by a snake.

I was lured by another to try a bite of something different, something new. I took a bite in the darkness of the night. There was a sense of liberation that came with this act.

Despite the guilt that brewed inside, the thought of leaving my first love seemed more tangible.

I hadn't realized how much I had depended on his fading love for sustenance; it was limiting and scarce. And so, I spit out that mouthful of my first love.

I rejected the scraps that he fed to me which the facade that there was a feast in store.

There was no end in sight, there were just more empty promises and pieces of convenient love and attention to keep me alive. I yearned for more.

I wanted my first love to feed me plentiful, to match my limit with his love. I had an unwavering appetite that was persistent in its veracity for him.

So I took the handout of another and was opened to a world of possibilities that existed. Still, my mouth waters when I imagine the possibilities of those scraps he lay.

How immense I imagined the end of that trail to be! Filled with everything I could ever want, but alas all my first love has to offer are those pitiful scraps.

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