The shipwrecks of life are the answers to the deep crashes within us

Some people manage to be loved by the magic of the moment, and for some, all of our lives are not enough to finally teach them how to love properly… just like ourselves. Always like yourself actually.

These people are our mirrors, and on them we constantly correct what we do not know how to correct on ourselves. We are their critics and painful lessons and they run away from us in the end, just as we skillfully run away from ourselves. Then we are back to the starting point with a million question marks overhead.

What were the threads that broke in us and when?

What abyss we cannot even unravel, let alone fill with some love for ourselves, so that we can go forward? Why are we forever spinning in pirouettes? We discover a fraction of ourselves, only to realize that too many pieces of the puzzle are missing.

And we try to love. We try to give ourselves. We try it from scratch. But it collapses, as if an ancient curse had been thrown at us. And it’s not going. It is like an eternal struggle with the windmills, deep within your own soul. That’s the only conclusion I can make.

On my own, I know when I fall. These are the moments when, after much vain lapping, I usually realize that I have bitten myself on the ass. I get caught in the loop.

I know I can’t go back, and it’s not time yet, so there’s a dull feeling in the bottom of my stomach, as long as a rope full of naval knots. The right move can unleash them all, and the wrong ones…

… Well we know what.

The people we love are strong, straight ropes, easy to consider, and always close, always at your fingertips, always ready to save us. The ones we are learning how to love… they are tangled, just like our insides.

After dragging some right and wrong moves, I find myself sitting on the floor, surrounded by a multitude of ropes and a hole in the boat floor. Because while I was dealing with knots and emotions, I let go of the helm and hit the cliff. And the water is rising and I’m still dealing with ropes and curves.

And it seems as if I really have all of the eternity this little mistake …

Because I always go back to straightening the curves. Those in the palm of hands, those in the path, those in the mind and soul settings. And just when I think I’ve learned the lessons and can tear up that eternal shrubbery and thorns that pops up and gets stuck in the flesh along the way, I realize that over and again I still don’t know anything.

And that I am a bead of dust in the palm of the cosmic mystery called life, essential but irrelevant, shining but imperceptible … just a wheel that helps the machine spin, but without which the mechanism would not break. What a painful cognition on the tongue. Painful and deep. And yet it still turns out that I didn’t know anything at all…

And again, I drop the helm from my hands.

The people I love change me. I am even more changed by those I am learning to love again, just like myself.

They change me because they tell me everything I don’t want to know about myself. For they bring to the surface all my truths, revealing secrets and demons deep under my skin, which stretch out over my bones.

They make me promise not to make any more promises. They force me to be persistent, however contradictory to the sidelines. They make me forgive even what seems unforgivable. They make me grow, get up after every fall, and question all my beliefs.

I find it most difficult with those I have been learning to love all my life. Which I could by no means accept because it would mean that I accepted both myself and my choices. With whom I quarrel and justify myself, because I cannot forgive myself the thousand and one delusions, the five hundredth fall and the five hundredth and first attempt, which may be in vain, but I start again.

And even though, as a rudderless ship, I run into a cliff, so I add up the cuts and contusions, and I refuse to give up. Because if I give up trying to love what can be hard to understand let alone love, it means that I have failed. And that all this adventure of mine, called life, was completely pointless.

Because of this, tomorrow, again after knowing which shipwreck, I will decide to try to love what seems endlessly difficult, almost impossible. And I’ll try to understand even when I left speechless, even when I am out of my nerves. And I will try to grow even in half darkness.

Because at some point, inevitably, I have to run into some answers.

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