Love Lies Bleeding
By Michael Ngigi
Are you hurting right now? Are you uncertain? Uncomfortable perhaps? Is this what you signed up for? How about your man? Is he the one? Can you confidently say that you are in the right relationship? Or is he such a good guy that you can’t tell him this bad ugly ‘thing’ that he needs to know before it’s too late? How about that girl who you really like but for one reason (mostly the she-already-got-a-man factor) you can’t tell her? You know she likes you too but you don’t want to be the guy who drives the stake through a fellow man’s heart. How will he react if I told him it I wasn’t feeling this whole ‘thing’? Love is supposed to be unconditional, blind and true. Sadly, it now lies bleeding.
On Facebook, such a status is summarized as It’s complicated. What an escapist term! We are living in the hardest [if not worst] times in the existence of the human race. Where love is not felt but seen. Touch to believe but never believe without touch. At the end of the day, everyone is busy chasing one fantasy or the other. I want to have my cake, the cake on the next table… Damn! If i could have all the cakes in the shop, and eat them all! I have seen many a man claim they can be in love with three different women at the same time (been there). Believe it or not one beautiful woman said she wished her six best man-friends would be merged into one. Only then would she settle and love fully. Is this happening to you?
What happened to the likes of our folks? Yes, most families were dysfunctional to some point but most couples of this era are still together no? What makes our generation so particular in their prospect, that the universe can’t offer you exactly what you ask for? Maybe we have too much to go round. Choosing is hard. I agree. But deep down we want to stop and rest at some point. A happy ending just like a storybook. We want to tell our friends and children later that our life was a dream come true. An inspiring, heart-melting tale of lovers destined to be.
Come back to earth.
Here is a thought.
My uncle got married at fifty. A few weeks later, he asked for divorce. His reason was rather obvious. He was still not sure about this one. He had never given attention to one woman at any given time in his live. Now he is back to step one.
How about the chic who wouldn’t give in to many a good guy when she was young? Well she worked hard, got a good job and rocked a good earning. She was focused. She is now edging towards her forties. She says she likes her men young. These type of men are easy to control and get rid off. She has one big problem though. She gets attached easily. You see, when you’re nearly forty and you’re dating a younger man who’s twenty, it could get messy. No young man wants to be seen hanging out with a chic twenty years his senior, unless it’s Halle Berry. Nick Canon and Mariah Carey, you get my drift?
On the downside, making a mistake when choosing a relationship is easy. Out of a hundred candidates, only one is your type. Break-up rate is at it’s highest. Reason being, you might have the intentions and the zeal to hold your relationship together but what about your partner? One hand cannot clap you know? How would you react if your woman told you that she doesn’t feel you anymore? Would you take this bitter pill? Let me push you further. Your man tells you one day that he is in love with your best friend. And for some reason you can clearly see that they are indeed meant to be together. Would you let go or would you kill yourself? Maybe kill them both?
Nothing is real anymore. Nothing is normal. I’m talking about you. The unhappy woman you are. The dissatisfied man you have become. I’m talking about me. Unsure and scared to take a risk. When will we get tired of these deviations? Will the truth really set us free? Or should we shove the secrets and all the wrongs we have done into the abyss of our amnesia?
These are the days of our lives. If we don’t find a way to put up, deal with or live with these realities, we are in deep trouble. And for eternity, love lies bleeding.