I’m going to attempt to do this, so bear with
me. Firstly, I’d like to say that I’m learning the notion of doing this, of
speaking openly and honestly about me on a forum so open, from someone I
believe to be one of the bravest people I know. You’re fearless, you’re a
writer and a phenomenon, and I’m privileged to know you, to have you as a
friend.
Anyway.
I didn’t want to write about her, because to
some extent I am a hypocrite, I preach you only live once, and yet I love as if
I could redo this life. I want to speak about love, I always speak about love,
I know, but I have this appreciation and profound befuddlement at the idea.
Love. The heart wrenching ripping, tears streaming yet heart smiling, gleeful
yet painful, disorganized yet perfectly clear notion. To know you’re in love,
to feel it when you see someone, and know that your world has settled into a
perfectly organized structure, is scary but it should be faced. Yet, I find
myself unable to face the idea of being in love, not again, not when I have
been certain so many times and had my heart crumble because I don’t know how to
love myself, yet insist on loving others. There’s another confession, I love,
but I cannot love myself.
From previous entries, you’ve read that I
might love myself, that I found myself faced with the profound concept of the
Almighty, and fell to my knees at the face of His love. Yet, I find myself
coming back to who I truly am, a wreck. I’m bad at explaining myself, but I’m
brilliant at listening. Tell me about yourself? How are you? Are you Okay?
These are the questions I ask people so many times, almost demanding a straight
real and honest answer, a question that I find myself so often avoiding. To a
certain extent, I cannot feel wholly good about the fact that I want to listen
to people, comfort and guide them, when it feels as if it is coming from a
selfish place, I do it to escape myself.
Are we ever ready for Love? That’s a question
I don’t have an answer to, maybe one of the many questions I’m asking myself these
days, along with many others like Who are you? What are you going to do? How
will you get out of this? By this, I mean my own mind; a place so infested with
dark corridors, that light seems like something absurd most days. How could you be
ready for love when trying to understand why anyone would love you, seems like
the most ridiculous thing in the world. I am not ready to be Loved. I know
that, no, I haven’t answered the question, I don’t know if I’m making excuses
or if it is the answer, that I don’t know if I can accept someone loving me, if
I don’t love myself.
In truth, I hope she never reads this,
because I love her enough to know that she deserves to love someone who
understands it, who revels in it, instead of shrinking away at the idea of the
warm and fuzzy. I love her enough, to let her love someone other than me. I’ve
heard that this is being selfish, that I shouldn’t make decisions for other
people, but I’m making a decision for myself, that I shall not put another
person through the pain of loving me, the pain of loving someone who doesn’t
know it.
You should love, you have no choice, none of
us do but you should also be willing to accept that someone loves you first, because
without that, it is just a one sided phone call across the Atlantic with really
bad cell phone reception. Painful.
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