I read a post this morning which touched me. And while the overall tone is sexual and suggestive the line which stuck me most is this one.

Let me take away your pain and carve my name into the chambers of your soul.

It reminded me of my past relationships, how I still have those names carved inside of me. How when I think about them, those people, I can feel where their names are in my heart, the flesh raised and scared. I can remember the times we shared, the memories we made.

I am reminded of the movie Inside Out and how all of these once warm and happy memories are now tinged with the cold loneliness of sadness because while those names are still there inside me, the people are no longer in my life.

And the realization that I made the choice to walk away, to end things, stings. The pain I feel is my own doing. At the same time, I felt, and still feel in most cases, that my choices were the right ones for myself.

The pain comes from longing. It comes from wishing things had been different. That they had worked out. That I had been stronger, better able to communicate, more supportive, more understanding. Just in general being more than what I was.

It comes from wishing they had been more. It always seems to come back to more. Which reminds me of an episode of the Simpson’s. I don’t really follow the show, but there was an episode a while ago, years ago, that struck me, must like this post. The millionaire / billionaire / super rich character was talking about his fortune to someone and made the comment, “Yeah, but I would give it all up for more.”

I do not regret allowing these people to leave their marks on me. They helped me grow and discover who and what I am. At the same time, the pain is hard, heavy, and I am reminded of it today. Reminded that just because you think, or wish, or crave for something to last forever doesn’t mean it will, and that like a picked flower, sometimes things are meant to die.

I suppose that’s overly morbid, but to me it is comforting, reassuring. It’s real. Death is real. It is part of the cycle, part of life, and not accepting it, turning a blind eye to it, to me seems foolish. It would be living life in denial, refusing to acknowledge the fact that to have balance there must be bad with the good and good with the bad. It’s not pessimistic or optimistic. It’s realistic.

Most things come about because of the end of something else. The death of something else.

I wonder if a phoenix experiences pain. I wonder if rebirth is an excruciating process. I wonder if it remembers its past lives and the pains it endured. Can a phoenix have scars under its feathers? Names carved into its soul? Can a phoenix experience fear, doubt, regret, guilt, remorse?

Everyone thinks of a phoenix as the embodiment of newness, growth, change, and second changes. I wonder if there is more to it than that.

I wonder if before it dies if a phoenix cries and wishes for more.