Love is deep. Healing is slow.

19. November 2018, Addis Ababa

Dear L.,

Why does this hurt me so bad? I don’t know. I really don’t know. All I know is I feel it in my chest, like a stone beneath my throat. And when I feel this way, I wish for something external to happen, for something external to release the pain I can’t handle myself. And funnily enough, I do not remember one single instance where in a situation like this an external factor released it.

Was it not always time? Slow paced relief that came without any spectacular event, that brought me back to myself. Was it not always that this type of pain would never be solved by its cause? The person you were heartbroken about never came and hugged you making you feel better. It never happened. Maybe once, two years ago, when I met T. in a caf’e in Addis Ababa, following the November episode. He actually did come and relieve it. He kissed me every 30 seconds, as if to say, ” I will do whatever it takes to make you feel as if I want the public to know we are one, I stand up for you, with you and care for you.” Afterwards, we went home together. We went to our home together, the one I had paid for and the one he had spent the weekend making love to someone else in….Of course, that, I only found out months later.

Why and how does it hurt so much?

I know this pain from before. Unfortuantely, I know it too well.

Maybe this pain, the deepest pain I know only comes when you know in your heart you cannot forgive. When you know it is over. When you know that it is over because the person quite frankly doesn’t love, want or need you enough.

T., what is it that you released in me? Why did I love you so? Why do I still love you so? What is it about you that makes me feel this way? Why does this pain me so much?

I cant grasp it, but it is the deepest of all pains.

With Love,


Khalil Gibran – On love

When love beckons to you, follow him,
Though his ways are hard and steep.
And when his wings enfold you yield to him,
Though the sword hidden among his pinions may wound you.
And when he speaks to you believe in him,
Though his voice may shatter your dreams
as the north wind lays waste the garden. 

For even as love crowns you so shall he crucify you. Even as he is for your growth so is he for your pruning.
Even as he ascends to your height and caresses your tenderest branches that quiver in the sun,
So shall he descend to your roots and shake them in their clinging to the earth. 

Like sheaves of corn he gathers you unto himself.
He threshes you to make you naked.
He sifts you to free you from your husks.
He grinds you to whiteness.
He kneads you until you are pliant;
And then he assigns you to his sacred fire, that you may become sacred bread for God’s sacred feast. 

All these things shall love do unto you that you may know the secrets of your heart, and in that knowledge become a fragment of Life’s heart. 

But if in your fear you would seek only love’s peace and love’s pleasure,
Then it is better for you that you cover your nakedness and pass out of love’s threshing-floor,
Into the seasonless world where you shall laugh, but not all of your laughter, and weep, but not all of your tears.
Love gives naught but itself and takes naught but from itself.
Love possesses not nor would it be possessed;
For love is sufficient unto love. 

When you love you should not say, “God is in my heart,” but rather, “I am in the heart of God.”
And think not you can direct the course of love, for love, if it finds you worthy, directs your course. 

Love has no other desire but to fulfill itself. But if you love and must needs have desires, let these be your desires:
To melt and be like a running brook that sings its melody to the night.
To know the pain of too much tenderness.
To be wounded by your own understanding of love;
And to bleed willingly and joyfully.
To wake at dawn with a winged heart and give thanks for another day of loving;
To rest at the noon hour and meditate love’s ecstasy;
To return home at eventide with gratitude;
And then to sleep with a prayer for the beloved in your heart and a song of praise upon your lips.

Kahlil Gibran on Love

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