I walked with regrets
There's no such thing as closure--even though we know we can't bear to live with regrets. It's the constant dialectic, the endless dilemma of having to live with our mistakes even as we find ways to blame others. This is especially true when love is spurned, when lovers part, when two who were supposed to be one flesh have been torn apart. The end of love makes everyone question beginnings: were we really in love? Did she care only for herself? Didn't he cherish me once? Who's right and who's wrong? Did we fail love or did love fail us?
Love is not singular; it only exists when it is shared. So, the lover says, "I loved because I was loved." But, should it be that way? When a lover walks away, does love perish with him/her? Doesn't true love persist even when love is spurned? Who is the one who gets to decide when love is dead? The departed or the spurned?
Looking back on it all, Sufjan Stevens struggles with the failure of love "now that he's older." Youthful exuberance must give way to mature reflection. Time is supposed to be the gift that makes love stronger. Instead, it makes things worse. The more we try to sort out the past, the harder it is to make sense of what happened, to find closure, to put away regrets. Seems like we don't get very far; the older we get the more things remain the same.
So, what do we do when we realize time doesn't heal all wounds--especially the stigmata of love? What happens next, especially when time marches on, even though the end of love feels like the end of the world?
It's time to get real and get right.