Oh The Anguish!

Love is what makes life a reality, not just a transcending moment.
Love is what makes people real, not just zombies passing by.
Love is what renders priceless a gift, puts a face to an act of love, transforms garble into poetry, bends the mathematical laws of time, and catalyzes orgasmic explosions upon physical contact.



What happens then, when love dies?

Then the pains serves as a reminder to us that we are alive. What else could explain the void so deep, besides that we once gave everything of ourselves to another?

No, wait. We gave more than everything of ourselves. We gave our past and our future. The present, right now, is simply a snapshot of the entire film that makes up our life. The pain of the present can only be a futile attempt at interpreting the identity of the lonesome figure in the photograph. And that photograph is everything that is left.



Please don't burn the remainder of tape away.






I know you feel betrayed. You feel betrayed of not your friendship, but of love. It's the worse feeling that a human could ever go through. How do I know? My own experience of betrayal is not adequate enough to make so bold a statement.

But imagine it. The greatest pain that was inflicted on Jesus came not the nails that pierced His hands and feet. Neither was it from the crown of thorns on His head, nor the lashings that He received before climbing Golgotha.

The greatest pain came from the acts of betrayal from those closest to Him: Peter, Judas, and the millions of souls including you and I, whose countless sins weighed on His heart as He hung on the cross.

Some say that a betrayal of love is like a blunt knife stabbing through the heart, then a twisting of the blade, a conservative estimate of a few hundred rounds, before a mocking kick to the head and a spat on the face.

That's not too far from the truth. And three times was enough to demolish even the most foolhardy, stubborn, die-heart romantic will of my belief in love.




Imagine what He went through on Calvary.








It was enough to make God turn His face away from His Son so that the angels would not see Him cry.








When lovely woman stoops to folly, and finds too late that men betray, what charm can soothe her melancholy, what art can wash her guilt away? -Oliver Goldsmith

My God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me? -Jesus (Matt 27:46 KJV)