One year ago. One year ago, I was in Cusco. I won't go any further into depth because today I am fragile. One year and one month ago, I was the happiest I had ever been. Even now, I count those days as some of the most wonderful I've ever had. The whole world lit up around me. And it was beautiful. My heart was full and I was alive. There was nothing I could not do, could not face. I was wild, untamable, free. And yet, I belonged. Oh! what a marvelous feeling!
Everything I once held dear, I count it all as lost.
I like old things. Clothing, furniture, photographs. I like their history. For the same reason, I like people. Because we have history. I want to know, I want to understand. I have childlike wonder and curiosity. There is so much to know about this world! Old cameras, record players, typewriters, vintage posters, and black and white films. I love things that are made by hand, from scratch. I like to cook that way. I think that makes it better, gives it more of a history. Writing letters is one of my favorite past times, you know, with a pen and paper? I want the whole world to have that grainy vintage look from home videos in the 1970's. I want to feel that at home.
But what can I tell you?
I'm falling out of love on my own. It hurts and I wonder if this is all worth the while. Someone punch me in the subconscious. Every time I think I am making headway, I realize I've actually taken a step backwards. I want to be done with this, I want to be new and open to love again. But, I realize, I'm terrified. I use my ability to use awkwardness for humor as a shield against anything that even resembles more than friendship. I am shut off to the part of me I cherish the most. I love people unconditionally, but I can't seem to let them love me. I keep refusing that part of the equation and that isn't what I want. Isn't who I want to be. I'm afraid. I am afraid of falling in love alone again and, worse still, having to fall out of love on my own as well. A place where there is no closure, just you pulling a heavy door shut slowly despite your desperate urge to check if there is anyone on the other side every two minutes.
It's worth it, you know. I am scared, I am so terrified of being hung out to dry that I am possibly ten fold more awkward than normal [an impressive feat, I assure you]. But then I close my eyes and take a deep breath, asking myself if "playing it safe" ever got anyone anywhere. And demanding to whether or not I think I will somehow benefit from not experiencing the most wonderful thing there is, simply because of some fear? Sure, I'll never have a broken heart ever again. But I will also never be back at that place I was one year ago, never pass that place. I am afraid. But that is no excuse. I am slowly opening myself back up to the possibility that love is meant to abound within all that I am. It is ridiculously painful and utterly terrifying - and I am doing it anyway. Because even the smallest sliver of hope that says I might fall in love and be loved once again is worth it.
Here's lookin' at you, Kid.
I am commandeering. That is my heart and I'll take it back, thank you. I'm almost there. I believe in love and all it's possibilities. And I refuse to let something as simple as fear take that away from me. Here's hoping.
To all those who have forgotten to believe in the immensity of love.