The Crazy Way You Loved Me

We had an extraordinary love. Together we were a thrilling, intense, unforgettable storm.

For reasons only known to demons and gods, when my naked skin touched yours your heart violently intervened and boldly commanded my heart to dance.

I never put up a fight. I just lay there night after night wondering how a human who seemed so delicate, tender and fragile on the surface could have the inner strength and determination to mercilessly override my heartbeat and force a fusion that eternally changed its pulsating rhythm.

The collision of our two hearts shattered and spun me out of all control. It stirred me to experience a wild but melancholy madness for you as I found pieces of us glistening and crackling like lightning in everything, everywhere.

You see, in the aftermath of what we shared, I’ve come to understand something—love is not always sweet, kind and gentle.

It is also unintentionally cruel and fearsome and it naively doesn’t realize the devastating consequences of its actions. It is naive to believe that love will patiently wait or that it will tentatively step slowly on roses when it finds a rare and intoxicatingly strong connection. Love will take a million thorns in its side and still not falter despite the tales of caution and grace we are repeatedly told.

So, you may think I am side-stepping my responsibilities here and that I am asking for you to take the blame for the aches I now carry with me. Yes. It is true. My heart-fueled anarchy must be because of you. I have travelled to heaven and hell and yet still I have not found another explanation for the equal measure of pleasure and pain that you ignited in me or for the crazy games you beckoned my insecurities to play.

You provoked a weakness in me that easily allowed you to kidnap my trembling emotions and the entirety of how willingly I surrendered can only be your fault. I know this without doubt because no other love has ever made me feel anything close to the elegant but wicked sensation you caused in me.

You unlocked, captivated and consumed me and ventured deep into my soul like a whirlwind, unraveling me complex layer by layer and without a whisper you took all that I contained. I remained still, helplessly trapped between the confusion of enchanting nightmares and terrifying vividly real dreams.

We were a raging forest fire that just had to eventually burn out. Nothing that bright and blinding can possibly last forever. Our story eventually exploded and turned to stardust before slipping straight through our fingertips. All that is left is the charred, serene, silent haunting remains that float around me like dead leaves wearily falling from tired old trees.

I am not sure that I will every fully recover from the chemical thunderstorm you enticed me into, or that I even want to. I survive it only through blaming you and reminding myself in every moment to breathe and exhale the unbearable pain of emptiness, loneliness and longing I’ve endured since you recklessly left this bittersweet romance without a farewell.

You inflicted an everlasting torturous love upon me, from which I will never escape. You were a tragic distraction from the ordinary and despite my greatest attempts your presence cannot be unfelt or forgotten, even though you have now gone.

How am I supposed to continue when fragments of me exist like traitors within the chilling memories of you?

All I can do is pray faithfully for another once-in-a-lifetime roaring thunderstorm to arrive and remove the curse of the ghostly nostalgic remnants so that I can finally be set free. It is my only hope.


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The Crazy Way You Loved Me.

The Ones Who Have Been Badly Hurt Love The Hardest

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“And when she loved she loved way too hard. She figured she had to make up for those who didn’t know how.”  ~ Jessica Michelle

Love has a wicked way of cracking hearts open, devouring them and then messily discarding the remains.

When heartbreak happens it delivers an agonising feeling and one that tattoos a stone-cold, dark stain that is felt like a riot deep in the shadows of the chest.

It leaves a war-like wicked void. I wish I could say that something, someone, somewhere knows how to fill this abyss, but sadly, I haven’t yet known that to be true.

Maybe I’m wrong, but from what I have seen, those who have been hurt the worst are always the ones who resort to loving the hardest in a desperate attempt to escape and erase the demonic marks of hell that love carelessly leaves behind.

When two misplaced hearts tragically hit one another the inevitable fall-out from the crash is sharp, severe and silently destructive. Without warning the collision can abruptly halt a union, shattering bones, tearing at skin and causing lovers to break, bleed, forsake and frantically attempt to forget all the once-cherished, embedded memories.

Although they are then discarded in a barren wasteland, damaged, shattered and terrified and beneath their skin lives invisible wounds and scars, these broken hearted ones are not to be pitied, as they do not see themselves as victims of this dark, cruel haunting. They are courageous, faith-bandaged survivors who wander barefoot over hot spitting coals, believing, hoping and wishing for the right medicine to soothe and alleviate their sadness and sorrow.

The bewitching curse of the heartbroken is that once they have experienced love’s extremities they will trace the blurred edges of passion, unable to settle for the regular, mediocre or ordinary. Because their emotions have strongly soul-resonated on so many levels with another, the normal sweet dose of love just will not console or stabilize the heavy, quivering beat that loudly trembles and shakes the corners of their rusted fragile ribcage.

They will always be looking to strike a familiar mind-exploding chemical connection that feels so much more than any sensation that’s been invoked within them before. But, the main thing they are searching for is that someone who fearlessly carves them up, sees it all, loves thoroughly, nakedly, deliberately and stays.

Their greatest fear is that they are burning their lonely hearts out in vain as the depth and rawness of romance they remember with melancholy barely exists. They know there’s a chance that the rare heights of love they previously believed they had shared was just an illusion, not in any way real, simply a figment of their wild fairytale fuelled imagination. They also know that most won’t handle the too-much way they love. However, they still continue on with a smile and a sweeping, forgiving stride, riskily knotting and entangling with the numb, hollow, troublesome, turbulent souls, feeling too much and falling way too fast, as they have never known of a softer, gentler more delicate way.

These misunderstood, bruised, patchwork souls roam aimlessly around lighting the night, carefully stitching up hearts, mending broken parts and tenderly gluing the forgotten cracks that betrayal left behind, while secretly praying that an exceptional kind of complex closeness is waiting nearby.

“Do you think it possible that some people are born to give more love than they will ever receive back in return?” ~ Tyler Knott Gregson




Author: Alex Myles

Images: Ales Motyl/Flickr 

Editor: Travis May


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The Ones who have been Badly Hurt Love the Hardest.


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You are a Warrior…
Not because you stand fearlessly in the midst of action
Or because you hold your sword so high…
You are a Warrior because you sometimes feel afraid…
You make mistakes…
You f*ck up…
You stumble….
You fall…
You get defeated…
…Tricked, deceived…
You feel pain….
You beat the ground and let out a thousand tearful cries of “Why?”
And despite it all, when you blink, that look in your eye never leaves…
The fight remains deep inside your soul.
You never stay down…
Your strong hands shake
Your legs tremble,
But you always, always, find the courage to rise and stand tall…
You hold your head high and you take another step.
That My Dear Friend is the reason I call you a Warrior.

Alex Myles

Image – iaido & iaijutsu

His Muse

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Everything I wanted…
Was found in the way he wrote my name
The letters he chose to silence
The full stops and the spaces
Raged the fire within
The man was rare
Thirsty for words
His hunger burned through ink,
His flame turned paper to ash.

He deliberately pumped my blood
Though only to fuel his pen….
He touched and marvelled my skin
To plan and map out a story

His mind…
… a weapon for internal destruction.

I was his muse
His dictionary
A tool for his art

When I looked through his bookcase
I found all that I needed to know
Scatted in rambling thoughts
Of iconic poets now passed.
Everything tangled within…
Stunningly made treacherous sense

Be aware of a man who reads
But always beware of a man who writes…

Words… Alex Myles
Image…José Manuel Ríos Valiente