Love is the dream that I wish to find, a dream I wish to know. This life that I have lived has not gone without it, but it took me a long time to know that it was there. But the love that I found belonged to the heart of family and the bonds of friendship, and it was not the light that would envelope my heart. And I still dream to find the arms to hold me still, hold me safe.
As these days unfold before me, I find myself staring at a message from someone so long ago. I broke his heart in two, but that was five years ago. And his love for me has not died, but I do not love him. He was not what I was looking for, the white knight that I dream, but he still does not see that neon sign flashing.
And the message read that he was here. His love continued, and his heart was vacant. But I would not be its occupant. That time is over, but he would not fade away. He would remain, so what was I to do?
My life was not always mine to control. It would spin wild like a hamster running against its wheel, or it would be taken into the hands of the one that claims to know what was best for me. And I would be the passenger carried into time by someone else, and that car has been pulled over to the side of the road. And I am now the one driving, and nobody will take these keys away from me. And if he refuses to leave, then he can sit in the passenger seat.
And he waited for my reply, but I have opened that door more times than I can count. Even a simple response would make him think that he still had a chance, and no to him would mean yes. And I am tired of this game, so I press delete. But he is still there.
And his friend requests from Myspace and Facebook find home in my inbox, and requests to view his profile on dating sites turn into spam. And messages from him are still pending, but let him send them. There is always one button to answer them all. Delete.
It’s been five years. If you love someone, then set them free, and if they return, it is meant to be. But not for you or I. The love in my heart waits for another, and I do not dream of you. But you refuse to leave, and my life will no longer be put on hold.
This is my life, and I am the driver of my destiny. If you wish to chase cars, then do what you wish, but your choices, your life is a closed chapter in my book. And the pen will no longer write of you, and the past will stay behind once this piece is done. And as I spread my wings to fly will I not look back and regret. My choice has been made. I have let go. Why can’t you?