Why should I blame her that she filled my days with misery… Why, what could she have done, being what she is? Was there another Troy for her to burn? No Second Troy by William Butler Yeats
Love can be thrilling, can’t it? It can make your heart sing; bring a smile to your lips unbidden. When you’re truly in love, nothing else really matters. Except when your love is unrequited, then everything else matters. Yeats wrote No Second Troy about Maud Gonne, who was considered a great beauty and firebrand in revolutionary Ireland around 1916. She spurned his marriage proposals several times, before she finally married another suitor. She remained his muse though.
Certainly, I have felt that misery, the ruinous echo of love vibrating within my own cavernous heart with no answering call to soothe the aching. Back in my younger days, perhaps it was puppy love, but it felt real enough to me. I’d pass a note or leave a message to call me back and then anxiously await a reply. Sometimes waiting sheepishly for days because there never was an answer.
Over the years, I’ve learned love can wound and hurt as much as it can bind and make whole. I’ve been divorced now. I’m not so innocent as I once was, not innocent at all really. Once, I would have bared my heart in a note, now I’m guarded. A woman friend admitted she was afraid she couldn’t love again. She had been through too much and didn’t know if she could open herself up like that once more. She asked, Do you think you can love again, James? And I didn’t have an answer, but I did have a hope I could rebuild Troy.
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