I was asked the other day when I mumbled a curse containing the word ambivalent, "What's that mean?"
At first I shrugged it off with "Nothing but a word that doesn't describe it anyway," but after some thought I wrote:
Ambivalent: It's when you don't know the difference between black and white.
When everything you once held as right and good suddenly smacks you in the face with the all too familiar stench of disillusioning farcity.
It's when the infinite suddenly never existed.
When love rots to hate.
Ambivalence is when the loving finger of God on your brow becomes the mangled claw of hell shredding your soul.
It's when you've martyred and strived for peace of mind and spirit, and it's all destroyed by a wrong word from the right person.
It's like the beautiful rose that draws blood when you try and caress it.
Like the cool, refreshing river that sweeps you away in turbulent fury should you wish to mingle with it.
It's when in your big moment of triumphant glory, it suddenly strikes you that the goal was not worth the sacrifice.
But the biggest pain of all strikes when you realize the ambiguity of your own truth. Fighting yourself is almost intolerable, however necessary.