it’s been years and years that i’ve been wondering, searching and longing.  i went from a state of desperation for love, to a state of devouring all love that came to me and finally to this state of turning most all love away.  maybe it’s a path to independence.  maybe it’s a plague for my heart, my withering and cooling heart.

i sit there and look at you and i can feel so many different emotions spewing from my mind and heart.  like in that movie where the sewers start exuding thousands of gallons of puss colored water into the streets — maybe that was a dream actually.  i don’t know which ones to express and which to suppress so i get all tangled up in this emotion ribbon of indecision like a kitten, tearing the ribbon into stringy remains so unrecognizable that i can’t even get out a word.  speechless in the worst way possible.

as i limp through my thoughts i think about how different my reaction to this conundrum would be depending on my age.  some might say my maturity but i don’t know that my way of dealing with this is any more mature than slipping notes dripping in love under your pillow that probably just got washed with the pillowcase and tossed aside as lint.  or more mature than buying you a promise ring from some fancy boutique even though all you wanted was a nice pair of winter boots to keep your feet warm.  my letters are just as smeared, my representation of love just as flawed, my sense of value as skewed as it ever has been.

i don’t have an excuse for my lackadaisical approach of love these days.  both physical and emotional it seems like i just waft through the kisses, the hugs, the smiles and the sex as though i were repeating a rote task such as washing my hair or cleaning the dishes.  the lack of enthusiasm has nothing to do with you.  in fact i’ve never loved one in this way before.  the lack of enthusiasm maybe is a last ditch effort of my mind, flailing to prevent myself from cuddling and smiling.  to push myself to venture out on my own before i become a prisoner like i’ve seen happen to so many.

without misery life is hardly any fun just as schopenhauer said that life without pain has no meaning.  i guess i had enough pain in the far past to give the past couple years a lot of meaning and to push my growth beyond where i expected to ever be.  i know no buildings are going to burn down but I know that I have a couple broken windows and they are definitely self-inflicted.