Why is something achingly beautiful? Well, usually beauty is associated with perfection, to some extent. Perfection is unattainable and thus, so is beauty. Is that the whole truth of the matter, though? I can look at a picture of some beautiful scene in nature, and have an ache inside - because I will never have a chance to know that place, or to experience the beauty firsthand. Pictures help a little, but oftentimes, I find that pictures only increase the ache, and remind me how far away I am from them. To me, things that are achingly beautiful are things I know I cannot have, things I can't compare to.
"Achingly" implies that there is something painful in the beauty, and rightly so. There is music that haunts me, that evades me, hovering in my mind one moment, then gone the next. There is love that tears at my heart; there is joy that I can only envy.
I like to think that there are things I can do that nullify this ache, or at least dull it a little. This is an untruth, an attempt to protect what is already scabbed over. It works, as long as there is something to do, but once I find my hands empty and my work gone, the ache starts to wear away at my heart once more. I'm so very weary of pain, so sick of the ache. At least physical pain is finite, but emotional, mental pain...it lasts the test of time, refuses to mend, and recoils from any attempt to heal.
I suppose, in a way, it's an endlessly bleeding heart - something only soothed, momentarily, by being understood. There is so much of me that is misunderstood, or in hiding...
I suppose you could say that I'm at a low point, but the truth of the matter is, I'm only sore.
Achingly so.
~Fumble
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