Fragments of me in this universe

Before the day comes, in which it is my time, I pray I may be told that no more could I have been passionate. That in truth, I had reached all that I could, not in terms of accomplishments or in that which is quantity. Rather, that my heart met all the people it was supposed to love, that it may be bruised and torn but it did beat, that it beat so furiously. Thinking on that now, I could see that being the ending, my heart will lead me to my grave. Not for anyone or because of anyone but because I gave her work so she would not go unused.

I refer to the heart as feminine, not because she is driven by feelings, as many would like to believe. But because she has the gift of life in every cell, electricity, the womb of my heart carries all that which is me. At that moment, my last moment, the magnetization of every cell in my being will radiate. And maybe if you look close enough, like colored glass, it may paint a picture of all I saw and all I did.

We will all meet our ends, I just hope mine is an ending to a story, a series of magnificent events and moments of melancholia, but never regret. The only way I would fear it ended too soon, or incorrectly, would be if it closed in the middle of a chapter that was never written out of fear. That would be to sit at a typewriter, waiting for the words to come out with an experience or a curiosity that never was. To hope the book writes itself, or that if you wait just enough, it will all write itself out. That’s not how it works, I know that now, and the first few chapters of my book were hard, but they were never blank.

I can see that now, how even through the pain, I was always drowning in oceans of emotions, or setting fire to all I deemed necessary. I may not agree with those decisions but they were made in survival, and you wouldn’t damn a bear for hibernation and so I must not condemn myself either.

Through the decisions I made, the changes that occurred, the battles I endured, and the obstacles I overcame, I never stood and let my world collapse. It may have felt as if it did, but I was always fighting on the sidelines. Striking the match, putting out the fires, opening the floodgates, building the dam, furrowing the grounds, planting the seeds, cursing the gods, becoming one myself, letting myself fall, making the jump, hitting rock bottom, making a home down there, breaking out of my own prison, carving the mountain, climbing it, mapping the terrain, running into the horizon, and finally doing all this and now sitting and writing it. It may come across as existential but in truth it is the most human thing, to make noise, cause a commotion, and never stop moving.

Even in our quiet moments, we are ever-changing, ever-growing, ever-moving. There is not a state of human permanence, evolution did not occur because we just sat under the tree at Eden.

There was a point in myself where I thought this gift was a weakness, thought it too much. I believed I felt too much, took up too much room, that I was too loud, and then I let it fall away. I became too quiet, I couldn’t even hear my own voice, quieted my foolish heart, stored away the ideas that were too much, and became unrecognizable.

The issue was the thoughts never left, the quiet gave my mind an excuse to turn that loudness into a prison. After too long of finding myself and learning to shut out the outside opinions, I realize now the gift I carry. Not only in the ability to feel so much, but also of giving, and of being able to express it, to place it, to share it, and to become.

I have felt love and I have felt loss, I have given both, I have shared my words, shared a hug, offered a shoulder, and felt the beautiful human connection, platonically, and romantically. I could not ask for more except the chance to be allowed to love and share this earth with others who also appreciate and see the world this way. I also hope for it to reach more hearts and so as long as I am here and allowed this gift of a heart and a sensitive soul, I will love, and I will love again… Until my very last breath.

And if I am given the chance to do this life again, in the same way, I would do it again, and if my punishment is to relive it all, I will, and I’ll love harder and feel it all deeper this time. 

The day I stopped quantifying my life, the day I let the barriers around my soul crack and split open, I began to live… I may only hope that the rest of this life is just as memorable and full. And if there are multiple lives, that the love may reach beyond those too. 

In the end, I suppose there would be a number, a measure of all I loved, but one so infinite, you could never count it. 

The fragments of me will be found in all I loved and all that made me feel. It will be inseparable, the object and the abundance of my love. You would have to destroy the world in order to rid all that was the whole of me as I am a part of it. 

If it is true that we are just the universe trying to experience itself, then I am incandescent in my journey of self-love.