Love February is nearly over and by now you’ve realised that I have no love.
What I’ve realised now is that I am not alone.
I am not a lonely voice of Love(less) February.
And despite our best efforts – of funny anecdotes and music and autumn leaves and lonely vistas – the underlying pulsing beat remains the same.
Someone said we were melancholy.
I am not sure I agree.
Melancholy is an afternoon perched looking out at the rain.
Melancholy is the wry sad smile at tumbling pets because we see the joy but cannot feel it.
Melancholy is a moment of almost-enjoyable sadness.
To me, what’s behind Love(less) February is something rawer, something more painful; something less sad and more stricken.
It’s grief.
Collective grief.
Grief that can barely speak its name, is incapable of speaking its name.
A grief so existential it manifests from everywhere and nowhere; a terrible answer looking desperately for the question. Because a concrete, definite cause would enable us to name it, control it, wrangle it. Not conquer it. But live with it, tamed, as we work through it.
A grief we can box and label.
A grief we can name.
But our grief is as slippery as it is terrible. And real. And universal.
I put my pen to paper to write that we have no love because all we have is grief.
But I stop myself.
What is grief after all?
Is it not the loss of love?
The hole within us?
Do we not love the thing that is now missing, the thing that slipped from within us, the thing that caused this aching emptiness that we call grief?
Do we not love the Earth that is dying?
Do we not love the children that are crying?
Do we not love the victims: of fires and floods and viral strains, of camps and cruelty?
If we did not love, we would not grieve.
So grieve, my friends.
Continue grieving.
When you stop, when you are blissfully numb, that is when you truly will be out of love.
Don’t apologise, you weren’t rude at all.
If anything, saying that made me sit back and think about the word ‘melancholy’ and if it really applied. So thank you for putting it out there.
Beautiful, LT. I feel your grief (love). My prayer for you and your country.
Though grief and love are equally strong emotions and equally important, I still would prefer love. Grief drags me down when love lifts me up. So continue to grief for the Earth, for the children, for the victims. I hope though, one day you may you find love again.
LT is Irresistibly Indifferent, Dame Judi
February 13, 2020 at 2:16 AM
Let’s talk about the real things.
Let’s be honest.
Love February is nearly over and by now you’ve realised that I have no love.
What I’ve realised now is that I am not alone.
I am not a lonely voice of Love(less) February.
And despite our best efforts – of funny anecdotes and music and autumn leaves and lonely vistas – the underlying pulsing beat remains the same.
Someone said we were melancholy.
I am not sure I agree.
Melancholy is an afternoon perched looking out at the rain.
Melancholy is the wry sad smile at tumbling pets because we see the joy but cannot feel it.
Melancholy is a moment of almost-enjoyable sadness.
To me, what’s behind Love(less) February is something rawer, something more painful; something less sad and more stricken.
It’s grief.
Collective grief.
Grief that can barely speak its name, is incapable of speaking its name.
A grief so existential it manifests from everywhere and nowhere; a terrible answer looking desperately for the question. Because a concrete, definite cause would enable us to name it, control it, wrangle it. Not conquer it. But live with it, tamed, as we work through it.
A grief we can box and label.
A grief we can name.
But our grief is as slippery as it is terrible. And real. And universal.
I put my pen to paper to write that we have no love because all we have is grief.
But I stop myself.
What is grief after all?
Is it not the loss of love?
The hole within us?
Do we not love the thing that is now missing, the thing that slipped from within us, the thing that caused this aching emptiness that we call grief?
Do we not love the Earth that is dying?
Do we not love the children that are crying?
Do we not love the victims: of fires and floods and viral strains, of camps and cruelty?
If we did not love, we would not grieve.
So grieve, my friends.
Continue grieving.
When you stop, when you are blissfully numb, that is when you truly will be out of love.
That hollow pit still cries to be filled.
That’s how you know you’re still alive.
And loving.
Love, February.
LT is Irresistibly Indifferent, Dame Judi
February 13, 2020 at 2:17 AM
Day 13
@katakwasabi @leetennant @ally-le @snarkyjellyfish @bebeswtz @msrabbit @kat23 @hebang @ndlessjoie @yuyuu @lugirl131415 @tspmasala @willow @moomoomoondog @carmen @hotcocoagirl @mindy @gadis @coffeprince4eva @suriyana-shah @pinklolipop @sicarius @egads @kimbapnoona @justme @greenfields @wishfultoki @raonah @moana @anothernicole @khalessymd @oppafangirl @bammsie @natzillagorilla @acacia @sweetiepie54 @waterhyacinth @isthatacorner @fatcat007 @tsutsuloo @maybemaknae @rukia @pineapplegongzhu @eazal @babybeast @thetinyl @yyishere @stpauligurl @ayaan @outofthisworld @mayhemf
Beverly
February 13, 2020 at 5:33 AM
I am sorry if I sounded rude when I said some of the post or posters were melancholy.
Grief honestly is a fucking monster.
This reminded me of a quote by Joan Didion (Confession: I got from Meryl Streep at the Oscars not because I read Didion, lol)
” A single person is missing for you and the whole world is empty.”
LT is Irresistibly Indifferent, Dame Judi
February 13, 2020 at 11:02 AM
Don’t apologise, you weren’t rude at all.
If anything, saying that made me sit back and think about the word ‘melancholy’ and if it really applied. So thank you for putting it out there.
stpauligurl
February 13, 2020 at 4:51 AM
That was beautiful and I’m nodding my head along with you. All I can say is:
Yep…..
thank you!
Rukia wants melona
February 13, 2020 at 5:29 AM
I want to like this over and over. Not because it makes me happy, because I identify. What you write is important and real.
Thank you.
***************
Ms. Rabbit 🐇
February 13, 2020 at 8:50 AM
Beautiful, LT. I feel your grief (love). My prayer for you and your country.
Though grief and love are equally strong emotions and equally important, I still would prefer love. Grief drags me down when love lifts me up. So continue to grief for the Earth, for the children, for the victims. I hope though, one day you may you find love again.
Eazal
February 13, 2020 at 9:48 AM
We grieve because we love and we can love because we’ve grieved.
ship-happens
February 13, 2020 at 4:28 PM
Wow. That was beautiful to read. It makes so much sense.
Cocoa, The Fake Poet of February
February 13, 2020 at 5:31 PM
This is friggin wonderful
Thank You LT thank You thank you thank you
snowy
February 14, 2020 at 12:15 PM
This is beautiful, and it definitely resonates. Thank you.