Affairs of the heart

Contrary to popular belief, I do not hate women. I love women, so much, that I actually have one. Wait, I had one. That's my problem you see, I live in the past way too much. I have been accused of not being able to love, maybe the layers of pain, fear and regret that follow me like a shadow hold me back. Or maybe I just need to find more friends who pity me less, who drink expensive alcoholic beverages derived from sour grapes and are actually on my side.

I have a fear, that maybe I loved so much that a part of me is still where I left it: with her. Weird thing about the heart is that it can occasionally love so madly, so deeply and so true; that its allegiance can change. Your own feelings can betray you. The heart can refuse to let go, actually what it does is it become afraid to love again. Moving on is not hard because you can't let go, letting go is the easy part. The truth is that the heart becomes so familiar and content with the safety of emotional neutrality that it becomes afraid to love again. It's not the fear of being hurt that stops me, it's the fear of loving again. Love is true, love is blind, and love is slowly losing your mind. The fear of feeling higher than the clouds because of another person's smile. It's actually weird that we speak of the heart as though it's more than just an organ that pumps blood, all of this actually happens in your head. Well, I only have three marbles left and I can’t afford to lose them.

I stood looking out of my window, bottle of wine in hand at 4 AM. Admitting to myself what I already know, I am a shadow/imitation of the man I was and insomnia can find me without a GPS. I grew tired of getting to know women, it became tiresome to ask the same questions. The routine of getting know a person’s likes and dislikes, the process of allowing this person close to you. It all became such a drag, opening yourself up to potential heart break. I decided to take shortcuts, it didn't work. That’s my life right now, the only thing working is my brain and even that is a questionable assumption. Sure I had less emotional interaction to do, but changing them like I changed socks became a drag. Each left me emptier than I was before, it created an emotional vacuum. In short giving less fucks has made me pessimistic, gloomy and uselessly unromantic.

You cannot avoid certain things. Relationships are nurtured, not grown in test tubes. It takes time, without the patience the result is the same: from being over one partner, to being on top the next. It all becomes meaningless, meaningless is very depressing. The one thing more annoying than being depressed is being depressed while you are depressed. You feel like someone with sinister intentions paid a cloud to follow you around. If I could fit under the bed, then I’d chill there the whole day.

I am hesitant, I’m like that kid who puts his foot in the water first before he gets into the pool. My hesitation is not a lack of caring, it is my way of re-learning how to nurture. It’s my realisation of the fact that concrete hardens better when you give it more time. There I go speaking in circles again.

Then I realised that the wine bottle was empty and I had no choice but to go to bed and sing insomnia a lullaby.