Well hello, old friend. Not sure why I stopped writing, but reading these posts even though they are no long applicable reminds me that writing is so therapeutic. Not to mention it’s nice to see where I was and how far I’ve come. So alas…we try again.
So much has changed since that last post, I don’t even know where to begin. When I read over my last post, I feel a multitude of emotions. Those words feel so foreign and yet I can remember them like it was yesterday; those emotions confusing but oddly familiar. I remember wanting to so badly to believe in love and believe that things would work out for me. They didn’t and somehow I’m okay.
Yet, I wound up here. Wanting to believe in love again, just a short 6 months after my marriage ended. Isn’t the definition of insanity repeating the same thing and hoping for a different result? I can’t decide if I’m insane or just a hopeless romantic. Perhaps the two are inextricably intertwined. Only someone insane would willingly subject themselves to the pain and suffering that inevitably follows love. But then he gently squeezes my hand and I know I’m in trouble. I start to allow myself to imagine what it would be like to fall asleep in his arms every night, feeling safe and protected. He kisses my forehead and I think…no I know, that I’d be okay with his lips being the last to ever taste mine. I inhale his intoxicating scent and can’t imagine another person being inside me ever again. I hear his voice and he makes me laugh from a place so deep I don’t know if I’ve ever truly laughed before. I look in his eyes and I think for sure that this magic I’m feeling has to be sacred and real. This has to be mutual. Or does it? Whether or not it is, I’m eventually reminded that a majority of these feelings are fueled by hormones coursing through my circulatory system and suddenly I feel so betrayed my body. How dare you? I nourish you and sustain your very existence and your only repayment is to leave me vulnerable and scared, not knowing if anyone will ever love me the way I love them. The way I want and need to be loved.
Can we even control whether or not we fall in love? Here I am again in unchartered territory. It seems as though there’s no way I could stop this train, no matter how hard I tried. It’s often described as a leap of faith but if we’re being honest it really feels more like being pushed bound, gagged and blindfolded out of an airplane. I guess that’s why they call it falling.
So…the million dollar question begs…do I try again? Do I even have a choice?
blooming where i was planted 