There is no such thing as an unhappy love.
There is no such thing… Do not be afraid to fall
Into the epicenter of a super-powerful explosion,
Which they call “hopeless passion.”
If fire bursts into your soul,
Souls are cleansed in the flame.
And for this, with dry lips,
Whisper “Thank you!” to Spring.
(c) Yulia Drunina
Perhaps those who don’t experience unhappy love “by calculation” are somehow wrong—like everyone who “calculates” love. To be honest, over the years, I have become one of them. I also don’t fall in love with someone if I have time to assess whether they will fall in love with me or not. But sometimes, I don’t have that time. Sometimes, feelings overwhelm you like a huge transparent wave. You take a breath when you surface, and you’re already a completely different person. With a different consciousness. And with a different fire in your heart.
Sometimes, there’s time to notice the wave coming, to calculate when it will sneak up on you and how it will crash over you, how long you’ll drift in a daze underwater, and with what feelings you’ll emerge to the surface, but the space is filled with a drunken red, consciousness acts, but your being is already paralyzed. It’s like a dream—you try to run, but your legs don’t obey, and the moment of drifting in this sweet, thrilling syrup, which is not yet love but already its beginning, is so sweet—when you realize that this is a pure, true meeting of souls, and the only thing that could sober you up are the conscious stereotypes you’ve created for yourself, which you’ve put on like a concrete slab and carry, using it as a barrier from beauty and perfection… You remember your slab (the little tile in your backpack) and leap out of the water just as the wave is about to hit you. You look down and see it crashing over the place where you were only moments before, and whisper, “Well, it didn’t work out. It’s a shame, of course, but what can you do…”
Is it bad? Is it bad to protect your soul from pain? From being torn to pieces, from being scraped across the heart by the sharp rakes of reality…
I don’t know. And I fear pain. And I don’t want it. And I think I’m unlikely to survive another unrequited love, but every time it comes, I open myself to it. Not even I, but my heart, which wants to love.
The silly work of consciousness manages to close me off when there is danger. But, by avoiding pain, I find myself each time falling from the paradise of love into hell. Yes, the fear of unrequited love no longer threatens… But ahead lies the horror of absence of love—like the absence of light, happiness, forward movement, wisdom, and magic…
Society sees unrequited lovers as somehow beneath those they love. What foolish people. The love within a person drives them on the path of spiritual growth to such heights… Especially love in an open system—unrequited love… The lover accepts. It makes life simpler, lighter, self-esteem and all that… But the magic happens only in the heart where there is love…
Beauty… I immediately wanted to fall in love, even if it’s unrequited. I’m tired of pushing love away from me…