Love, seriously?

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Why is it that the one you love, never seems to love you back enough? Why is it, the one you don’t love, pours out his heart as if you are the last woman on earth? And his heart will be crushed, broken into a gazillion pieces (I have no idea what that would be in gigabytes-their language, not mine) if I don’t concede I’m “the woman he’s been searching for” his whole life?

Why is it when you’re following your dreams, and your gifts surround you, and beckon to you with love and joy, that you can’t see the forest for the trees? And tears flow when someone smiles at you and offers kindness?

Why is it that in a world gone mad, fast and furious political mayhem, disasters plaguing all continents, that my personal needs are the only thing I can focus on? Where is my social awareness? I assume it’s overwhelmed with self-pity, sometimes hanging on every word from you as if I can’t breathe if I don’t hear your voice or feel your love.

Before I met you, I took pleasure in simple things. Life was un/complicated un/interesting un/demanding. I asked less of me and nothing from you–because I didn’t know I would find those feelings for another ever again in my life.

And, it’s not like I didn’t have that conversation with myself. You know the one, yeh, the one where you tell yourself that this is too good to last, too intense to sustain, too passionate to be real.

The falling in love is the best part, the living in love better yet, the living in uncertainty–there is nothing worse.

I thought I left those days behind me. But then you turned up. I sighed, knowing this was not going to be good, right?

Dear Heart, really??? Don’t you think you’ve had enough? After all, we healed from incurable once before! Do you have to turn incurable (of the romantic kind) into a habit?

I thought normal, sane, controlled, ordinary (my version anyway) and calm were doing just fine.

“And then there was you.”

 

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