There is a life outside of love,
a life that is not so much living
but existing.

We have all been in a similar place before,
some of us still dwell there,
and for even some still that is the place they will remain.

Some by choice,
some by circumstance.

Now this life on the outside of the seeming normalcy that society tells us is love,
or to be loved,
it is not the darkest point of gray,
nor is it the mere tip of the end of light.

It is something more unimaginable;
not completely sad,
not without moments of happiness.

It is a place with so much emotion that one almost becomes numb.

Every dance that each breath causes to design becomes an anesthetic for the next,
until eventually
nothing fazes as it once would have.

For some the scars from living in that realm never heal,
leaving an almost unfeeling husk to façade it’s way;
most times not even able to know when love has found them
or been found.

The lucky ones, perhaps,
allow the scars to stay and heal.
These find love,
sometimes real
sometimes otherwise,
but usually for the better,
even if for nothing more than the vacation.

There is a life outside of love,
may we not allow ourselves its intimacy.