Preface to All’s Well that Ends Well in Tortured Paradise, my unofficial, unpublished poetry collection on the horrors and emotional rollercoaster of a six-month situationship.
July 2024
You know the thing with poets, honey? They will break their own heart before they break that of another, in the name of poetry. That’s why I couldn’t let you go even though I should have, several times throughout our story. It’s in my nature to hold onto things that may not be beneficial to me, because a poet’s mind will forever wonder: what if? And if not, there’ll be poetry. It’s a win-or-lose situation, where, more often than not, the outcome is ‘lose’. The poet, then, picks up the pen and turns this loss into writing. The poet wins in at least one way doing this, a win crafted by their own hand, their own mind, their own imagination of what was and could’ve been. Therein lies the art that accompanies the love and grief of the poet’s past.
This little word called love, then—the tricky thing about love in poetry is that it can sound or seem as so much more that what it was. Or does it? Don’t words on paper merely reflect a person’s inner monologue, and is the weight of the message increased not by the writing, but rather by the emotions evoked by reading it? Is the weight, therefore, a reflection, not of the poet’s experience, but of the reader’s? What I am trying to say is this: these poems carry as much meaning as you ascribe to them; that is a gift placed in your hands, while mine merely deliver an account of what happened. The poet states the facts, the reader’s mind elicits the emotions.
Our situation offers another dimension, however, seeing as you’re not just a reader, but also the muse. You were a poet’s dream muse. Why? Because, throughout, there was never a green light. Never was it a clear ‘yes’. Within that ambiguity lies poetry; the poetry that this collection consists of. But not only did the ambiguity about our possible conciliation inspire the poems, you did, too. Who you are as a person, the endless hours of guitar you played for me, the advice you’ve given me on various occasions, and all the times you’ve made me laugh. How you became a companion when I really needed one. And I think you really needed me, too—in different levels of necessity throughout our time, I’m sure, which also contributed to some rocky periods—and more poetry. You were a delight and a disaster to be attracted to. I’m sure I contributed to that in some ways as well. Nonetheless, it was clear that we both felt we would rather have the other person in our lives, even if it came with a storm. That’s beautiful, and more beautiful still because of the fact that our relationship was born online, making it a precarious, uncertain connection that needed a lot of trust—themes that often come forward in these poems.
Now, I didn’t write these poems for you. I wrote them, first and foremost, for myself, to process events and the emotions they evoked within me, prior to and during our time together.
But this collection is also for every person likewise inflicted. Love is a scary thing to give away, and not everyone deserves to receive the love that you have to share. My muse wasn’t as big a sleaze as they come, but not everyone can say that. Give your love to yourself, first, and to the people around you who give theirs to you, second. Then, trust others with it. But be careful.
A little disclaimer. Somewhere between ‘the five stages of grief’ and ‘our story’, I think you became a fictional f(r)iend. But that is okay, because the sole purpose of poetry is never to be non-fictional; two highly important aspects of poetry are relatability and recognition. For this, poetry need not be the truth or the whole truth, but may consist of one person’s point of view and their point of view alone. That still makes the poetry valid, the experience real, albeit one-sided, possibly inspired by the poet’s imaginings of a situation instead of reality. But, you see, there’s something very sweet about only knowing one side of a story, because in it, there’s only their reality and, therefore, complete validation.
But knowing only my side of the story, I was left with questions—questions that arose during our time, and many after. Questions you impressively evaded, providing answers so unresponsive and uncertain they left me with more questions. This was perfect for the art; less pleasant for the mind. But a reflection of these responses is highly important to (who) you (are), since they show exactly what it is you’re afraid of; afraid to feel, to admit, and to share. Luckily for me, that’s your own conundrum to deal with. But I faced many questions, some of them I fear will forever be left unanswered. And while a lack of closure used to bother me, I have had a lot of training in accepting an ending without resolution. So I’ll make my peace with it, as I always do. View it as a token of appreciation for the place you hold in my life.
One of the most important lessons I’ve learned by not dating you is this: the love a person is able to give exists within that person and has nothing to do with the one receiving it. [It goes the other way around as well.] Yes, they can enhance each other, but one will not inspire love in another person if they are not able to give it to you. There are a few repercussions that come with this. First, this means that you can never make someone love you. We know that. Second, it means that your own perception of someone might solely be based on your own loving emotions—while the other may not even be deserving of them. Again: be careful what you give away. But give.
Life lessons aside—I hope you and everyone so kind to read these pages will find something in them. Be that recognition, acknowledgement, or a safe space to feel and heal. These are my thoughts during six months of uncertainty, recorded diachronically.
Your adoring fan,
Iris
Iris Elske 