Magickal chocolate technicolor heart bandaids

I don’t know what it is that we find compelling about another.  Is it a smile?  The color of their eyes?  Is it what they say, or how they think?  Is it the twinkle in their eyes or the curve of their lips?  Passionate discourse or sharpness of mind?  Maybe it’s all of these things.

I’m watching “Practical Magic” once again.  My cure-all, along with a bar of organic chocolate, for heartbreak (you know, Professor Lupin knows a thing or two about the curative powers of chocolate–good man, that Remus).  It is inspiring me to cast a spell, one which will keep my heart safely encased so that it never gets hurt again.  The bulletproof vest for the heart spell.  Is there such a spell?  Time to do some research…

They say that it is better to have loved and lost than to never have loved at all.  I’m not so sure about that.  The one who said that must have been the one who was loved, who felt the wonder of another’s love in all its fierceness and loved back in kind.  My whole life I’ve been waiting for this kind of love, but the timing has never been right it seems.  Mostly I’ve loved when it was not returned in kind.  A few times I’ve garnered some unwarranted attention, but I never dragged it along like a catnip laden toy, until I tired of the game or the person, or to where the proverbial cat got too close for comfort.  There was only one time when I felt like there was a crazy kind of mutual love–my first love, and we were so young we had no idea how to love in a healthy way, so we never made it out of its labyrinthine trials.

Here I am, in this space of hurt and loss… again.  What to do here?  What to do with myself?  No matter how many times I find myself here, it still doesn’t feel any different, nor I any wiser or better at doing this, whatever it is that this is.  The things that I took refuge in –found solace in– have all but abandoned me.  So I sit here and wonder what to do with myself, with the physical manifestation of loving gone awry.  I wonder how long it will stay, this discomfort, and where it will go when it leaves.  I wonder how it will transform itself from pain into something else, when for the moment all I can do is breathe through its jagged sharpness, poking me each time I try to shift into a more comfortable place.

And I roll my eyes at my melodrama.  How is it that I can’t seem to escape it?  I try to rationalize my behavior, negotiate with my emotions.  It works only until another wave of emotion roils to mock my attempts at self-control, at controlling things that are outside of my control.  My emotions are, despite my wish for them not to be.  In fact, I was hoping they wouldn’t surface at all, even from the start.  But they did, despite my wishes, refusing to be subtle or even remotely sensible.  All I was hoping for was a nice way to pass some time, in some good company, with a like-minded individual of the opposite sex who I found remotely sexually appealing.  Damn.

There is this longing for honesty, to be comfortable enough with another human being that you are able share your inner self, in whichever way that it manifests.  So, it seemed to me a natural thing to have shared this growing sense of love.  It was amazing to feel it again, after such a long while, growing like a flower at the center of my chest, blossoming and unfurling its petals.  But instead of taking joy in it, the one for whom this love was strengthening found it to be a burden; an unwanted thing.  So out went the baby along with the bath water.

And again, I return to my emotions, to sit with them a while.  Of being wanted but only so much.  Of my clumsy attempt to shift from being a lover to being a friend to someone who I never really got to be either to before both ways of being were fully entangled.  Of trying to reconcile the loss of the friend along with the lover.  Of trying to understand what is so fearsome about being loved.  Of trying to figure out what sort of friendship is completely devoid of any sort of expectation.  Of wondering whether I’ve completely lost my mind as well as my sense of self, and am asking who this stranger is in my body.

There is so much talk these days about forgiveness, of letting go, of acceptance (of self and whatever else is going on in one’s life), of staying in the moment and with your emotions, of visualizing in Technicolor® detail what it is that you want and where you want to go, of integrating all of the past crap you’ve been carrying along so that you can deal with the now, of letting go of all of the old crap because it doesn’t matter anyway because it’s NOW goddamn it not THEN so wake up and smell the coffee… but wait, you’re not supposed to be consuming caffeine because it’s bad for you, but hang on… chocolate, even though it contains caffeine, is GOOD because it contains anandamide which will make you feel happy even though you aren’t but for godsakes don’t give it to the dog.

No wonder all I feel like doing is going for a fucking long walk.


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