The Turmoil Just Behind the Peace

"Here's to the precariously perched highways of life that intersect with ease from a distance yet are filled with an unbalanced commotion."

You can't make someone love you.  Those who have had the experience of realizing this through experience understand the innate pain and agony that accompanies that statement. While it's easy to say and somewhat simple to understand, its outright torture to truly realize.  There's that moment when you have to watch the other person walk away for last time, and while you look at them you suddenly realize that it's not necessarily the last time you'll see them, but that it's the last time you'll see them attached with a feeling of hope. It's in that small moment that the rational part of our nature makes its greatest stand, attempting to beat back the tide of sentiment, screaming in a symphony of lyric-less music—you can't make someone love you.  When that moment ends the memory becomes an instrument of agonizing pleasure, reminding you of why the best was so good and the worst was so bad, while doing its best to feed that small feeling of hope as it slowly makes an exit. It's a tough and bittersweet lesson to learn and indeed the most stubborn among us never fully accept it. You can't make someone love you.  Here's a song that captures the beauty within the sorrow of watching someone walk away, sans hope, leaving you to your memory. Here's a song that goes out to the eerie splendor after the storm. Here's to the precariously perched highways of life that intersect with ease from a distance yet are filled with an unbalanced commotion. Here's to trying to make someone love you.  Here's to finding out you can't. It's a strange peace wrought with inner turmoil.