This means war

Constant deconstructing of all the words that broke her bones and all the actions that contradicted and debunked the notion of love and romance. Followed by tsunami size bouts of depression pooling in depths of nearly destroying her life, time and time again. And all the ridiculous chatter of overthinking that scared her into believing she could never trust that she wouldn’t always be preparing for battle. Nevermind the rage and carnage of a mind fraught with open graves and the dead that never slept; her head demanding a hard no - expressing outrage for the gravity of devastation in allowing the weakness of her heart to reign supreme with it’s stubborn optimism. For even in the face of broken promises and lean-to lies, her heart will just keep forgiving and making excuses for disrespecting behavior, and the manipulation of words shredding what semblance of her ego was left. Her blood soaked heart would sell her soul and she would numb her mind just so it could cling to the idea of a devotional safe desirous love. And she never abandoned a silly schoolgirl’s dream of true love. Her brain always screaming about the bleed and all the anguish and suffering of a million tiny deaths because the selfishness of her heart that just wanted to love, baring no weight of the destruction it caused. Still her heart pleaded and begged yes - in the knowing that love is love, and even if she would never get to feel the magnitude of the warmth she hastily gave away, she could lose herself in the frivolity of giving love enough so maybe she could be loved  in return. You wonder how her heart could see at all, what with all the galaxies spinning behind her eyes. Pitious and pathetic, full of emotion and magic and an extreme sensitivity to other’s needs yet none willing to offer her the same shelter. So her heart would stand out in the rain waiting until a boy grabbed her slowly fiercely kissing the storms that raged within, bringing her essence back to life. Her affection for a story she could tell and be proud of instead of the stories she sang as she cried herself to sleep. 

Then her soul wept - being torn apart by absolute truths and questions that circled like vultures preying upon a fresh carcass. The soul knew all the truths, even the ones her heart and mind couldn’t dare whisper. The soul crushed the narrative - not with ‘what if’s’ and ‘why not’s’, but ancient truths dripping from the blades of realism. The mind not wanting to contend with the now, the heart with a foot in the past and a soul that sought to shape all of their futures.

There was no arguing, all three were right. 

You cannot make people love you. Words are simply not enough. And the mind, heart and soul let go of the feud and called a momentary truce. Maybe they all held on too tightly and she just needed to breathe. So instead she let go, listened to some music and let the universe work it’s magic.