What do you do, when you love someone who doesn’t love you back? What do you do when you see a glimmer in their eye—a chance, a possibility, a potential? A jolt runs through you everytime your eyes touch. You feel it in your chest, in your groin, in your soul. And surely, they do too.
How could someone turn away from such ambrosia? Why won’t they drink from its cup, as do you? What is it they fear?
To be in love is to access an infinite well of energy. It fills your cup to the brim, overflowing, and you think to yourself: “look how much I have to give.” You tip your cup into theirs, and they tip right back. The water flows endless, a drug of proportions that compare to none. And if left unchecked, those emotions will become a flashflood wrecking havoc on your soul. Its water will sweep you along, appearing to take you where you’re “meant to be”—all the while carving a valley, eroding your strength, destroying the walls that keep you whole. But you don’t notice as they pull away to reinforce their own walls, because the water keeps flowing. The bottom falls out under you, and you don’t even know it.
It feels so good to be swept away, en route to a place of mythology. How do you let go of that feeling? What must be done to break the devils grip? The chains sit loose around your neck, but your arms stay at your side.
You try to raise your walls but when you see them, they crumble. You meditate, aware of the dynamics playing out in front of your eyes. You see it clearly, but trick yourself into believing—“what if?” It is not so simple to just “let go”, because it is not your hand that grips onto them, but rather, your heart. Emotions crash like waves, bpm spiking against your will. Can you control your heart? Can you slow its beat?
The river is fueled by glances and shared understanding. A wavelength shared only by the two of you. Two castles across from each other; it seems only natural to build that bridge. But it’s just you building the bridge. And with every beam of wood you place, alone, you demonstrate that they don’t need to do the work. You demonstrate that this is a one way street—gates flinging open, energy channeled without the slightest bit of work.
You see, this is no basis for a relationship. There is no teamwork at play here. It is the most difficult thing in the world to put the beam of wood down. To take a second to breathe, lean against the wall, and look at your handiwork. And what makes it difficult is the river that flows at your back—pushing you along, to the point where it seems like no effort for you at all. Seeing that bridge take shape is exciting.
But when the bridge is built exclusively from one end, the foundations start to crumble. The uneven weight distribution strains the wood, micro cracks expanding inside.
And so the only thing to do is to redirect. To close your gate. To strengthen your walls. To take those beams and shore up those holes. It’s painful to see that water trickle over; wasted, useless. “What do I do with this excess energy?” you wonder. “And why is it so hard to put it where it needs to go?” But the only thing to be done is to take a deep breath, and dive below. Strain through the discomfort, withstand the mounting pressure, and hammer in some nails. It feels like drowning. But its not. It is endurance training.
It ain’t much, but it’s honest work. And as you rebuild your walls, here’s the funny thing. You get to control its flow. You can open the gates, just a crack—and who knows? Maybe you’ll find someone at the other side, building the bridge all on their own. And if it’s right—maybe you can team up. And from there, a true partnership may start to form.