A cliché. A song with the same title she even deems fairly unappealing. But the title, the line “what I did for love” speaks true of her past.
She used to be the young woman who had dreamed there was a kind of love worth dying for. The young maiden who, as a child, hadn’t felt the mandatory loving atmosphere at home that she tried to find it from men who might have perceived, or not, the pleading tone underneath “Can you put me foremost in your heart?” But she’s probably one more of the countless women wanting of the right amount of self-esteem nearly all their lives. A woman true to form who’s unable to apprehend the ground around her.
“How dare he hurt me this much. I’ll never speak to him again.” Next thing she knows, her feet could only lead her to where her heart is. Scenes from a movie where after a knock on the door the man opens it to find himself face to face with his woman—not too long after a quarrel—in despair and in complete surrender: That’s her.
But for dreamers like her, true love simply remains beyond reach.
“I’ve come to know the bitter taste of being with a man who could only crush my soul.”
In a dream, I’m slowly walking through a fog. My eyes catch the view of a young woman, not too far away, quietly crying. The fog thins out as I get closer – only to reveal that the young woman is me from a long time ago.
A most difficult sight for me to hold onto; I begin to speak, “Don’t let your heart take on this inconsiderable load. There’ll come a day when you can’t even remember how and why you felt this strong. Please. Value your heart more.”
She looks back hard at me and all I see is the face of a young woman consumed by passion that spurns suppression coming from her temperate mind. She isn’t dumb not to comprehend the wisdom of what she’s just heard. Still, she commences taking a step away from me so she can be on her way – to the arms of the man who has been the core of all those tears.
In my last attempt to compel her to sensibility I seize her arm to stop her. “It isn’t worth it. Not for any man who’s causing you this much pain.”
She, of course, struggles to break free from me and walks away.
Sometimes I ponder if at this stage in my life I am no different at all from the girl I used to be. A frightening notion. Petrifyingly shameful, to be precise. At a period when the gates of love are in need of the right warrants. At a period when serenity is the sine qua non the sky must bring to me.
There are truths that will in time become as clear as sea.