By the time I turned 29, I was officially divorced after two years of physical and emotional separation. This unquenchable thirst for a feeling of completion eventually led me to move across the continent and get married at age 24. At that time in my life, being single made me feel lost and incomplete. I loved the idea of an overriding zeal at the mere thought or presence of a lover and craved affection. It incubated me from my own deeply-seated existential anxiety and depression. It gave me meaning in an otherwise meaningless existence and put a spring in my steps. I felt renewed, inspired, and as though I was gazing at the world through a new set of eyes. I wanted to bask in the afterglow of the divine.įurthermore, I noticed that whenever I felt limerence toward someone, I wrote what I considered my best prose.
I wanted to be lifted closer to the heavens and touch the stars. It took me nine years of brutally honest inner searching and some shadow work to realize that the type of otherworldly love I’d been seeking from outside of me was a byproduct of an unconscious desire to escape the bleakness of this world and connect with something I perceived as sacred and pristine. And that is precisely the depth of passion I long for. I was 19 or 20 when I’d first read those delicious lines, and instantly responded to the visceral tugging at my heartstrings. So close that your eyes close as I fall asleep.”
So close that your hand on my chest is my hand, Than this: where I does not exist, nor you, So I love you because I know no other way Beginning in the ninth line, in the third stanza, he writes: One of my favorite sonnets is Sonnet XVII, by Neruda himself. My mind has even gotten lost in a soap opera of my own creation-fantasizing about passionate conversations whereby the beloved in question professes a deep and everlasting longing for me, or a fiery rekindling of lost romance.
The impressions and sensations described in Pablo Neruda’s poems is exactly the kind of love I’ve always yearned to experience and encounter with another person. One of the many things that prolonged grief has shown me is just how deeply entrenched my previous ideals of romantic love truly were, alongside how insidiously destructive those concepts can be in that they’ve led up to the cultivation of unreasonable expectations and gaping disappointments.Īs I’ve stated in previous articles, I have always had a mind prone to dreaming and entertaining thoughts about the most intense and all-consuming love. If there is a secret valley leading to a river stream in the vacuous desert that is heartache, it can be found beyond the portal that is arduous self-inquiry.
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