Save me from myself

"And it hurts to want everything and nothing at the same time"

I'm sitting in our backyard under a tree attempting to meditate and energize my spirit by spending at least an hour outside with nature. I can't relax. I can't stop mourning the love I never had. Why as artist do we torture ourselves? Is it because we know that a broken heart inspires our most impressive work? Or because we've come to realize that love is a torturous/gratifying thirst? Or is it because if love wasn't torturous then I wouldn't be an Artist? Torture-Artist. Artist-Torture.

I'm sitting in my backyard listening to my "when the heart hurts" playlist on itunes. Reading "Desert Blood." Writing in my journal and blogspot about how love is torture. Why must I dwell? I mean, I'm not a melancholy person. I'm quite the opposite yet being deprived from human contact and playing lazy in my house, the only energy left in me just wants to be an artist whose heart and spirit only wants to mourn love that was never love.

Why must we mourn love that was never love to begin with?

Maybe because the love that was reality was never filling and if we mourned something that was never filling it would be a waste a time. Mourning love that was never really love, is the type of love that fills you up to maximum capacity and that isn't a waste of time, as mourning something that fills you up transforms you. The only risk is that transformation does not guarantee a step closer to happiness, just a step closer to multiple realities.

I need to start writing about the happiness of love...