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this is a love poem - a wandering samurai who has left his homeland
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unbeknownst to me, i would find myself later that night huffing at my low bedroom ceiling in frustration, counting my thoughts and contradicting my own words after my interaction with the kamisato's housekeeper. eventually, i would surrender to my restlessness and slip out of bed and lean against my bedroom window to find comfort in the moon's rays which echoed a grief that was hardly human.
'i am not in love with them,' i would whisper to myself, more to convince myself rather than a statement of fact. 'i'm not worthy enough,' i would try to reason, but there was no reasoning when it came to the irrationality of loving.
i fell to the silence of the night for a moment. i had immersed myself partially in the idea of being in love very gently. however, nothing i had been able to strung together had ever been good enough and the words would get caught up in my throat. gnawing at the inners of my flesh, this lump had begun to eat me alive and i had begun to rot. humans are so terrible when in love, i noted. i had this undeniable need that was wild like hunger. i have a want to express myself to the archons and beg for them to ache as i had been aching.
but i wasn't worth the trouble loving back.
in fact, i was afraid of love, of being seen. i was more comfortable with the fact that i was this unlovable creature—damned, despicable, unlovable, and not worth the trouble. but that didn't mean that i didn't crave the touch and connection. secretly and shamefully, i had the craving for it, but i swallowed it. in the face of love, i would pretend indifferent. however, cutting the petals off of roses does not stop spring from coming. from time to time, i would feel it slide down my esophagus with both arms outstretched as if trying to pull its way back up my throat and climb out from the inner corners of my both, but i would force it down once more and once more and once more and once more. but the more this need demanded, the less i had been able to respond.
i looked desperately back up at the rising moon which held a deep yearning. my breath hitched as i focused in on her glazing beauty, they had a lot in common with the moon: in her light and in her beauty.
i felt it in my gut then, a realization of the truth that the moon had so generously whispered to me in the midst of my conflicting feelings. i breathed into the air carefully, afraid my lungs would collapse to the sudden heaviness in my chest; there had been something beautiful and eternal in this acceptance.
how had i attempted to convince myself that i held no love for them when i had been collapsed underneath the moon wondering if i had even been worthy of their love?
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