And we leave behind husks of who we used to be and call them old loves...
I find it hard to remember who I was when I fell in love for the first time. Or rather I find that it's hard for me to feel the way that I felt back then. I feel like I've lost some innocence, which part of me misses but mostly I'm glad it's gone. I was a hopefully depressing romantic. Unrequited love was all that I had known my whole life, and when I finally found my first requited love it all poured out of me like some raging waterfall of idealizations and dreams. I took a "blank" canvas and painted my idea of love and loved one. I painted the most fantastical ideas of love, within the boundaries of fairy tales and socially acceptable norms. I loved fiercely but I forgot myself in the process. So 3 years later, when I was steadily falling out of love, I felt like an empty hollow. I left nothing for myself--I did not even paint on a permanent canvas.
I cannot feel nor allow myself to dive that deeply in anymore. Part of me weeps at this revelation. I could not dive deep enough in my most recent relationship to match that first love. It was different. And the difference crushed my heart in a way. My romance has been tempered with realism that has seeped in as I've discovered I am not that sugar-coated princess of romances I've been taught to idealize. And the little girl in me weeps. Yet another part of me rejoices. I am free. That little girl just needs to grow up.
Because I've realized that to immerse myself that deeply in love goes against my deepest desire to maintain some state of enlightenment--a detachment from the passions that ultimately lead to suffering. I could not be passionate enough in my last relationship to keep it going. I worry that I never will be. I wonder if it even matters. Because so long as I have companionship in some way or another, I should be fine. Right? Why am I not completely convinced yet.
I think because a part of me still believes in that beautiful idea of romance. That sheltered, quiet and beautiful love that will bloom slowly and remain in full blush for the rest of my life. Or perhaps I just might have to accept that the beautiful bloom of love will almost always fade away before my life does. And there is no one to tell me what might be the truth--because I am the only truth sayer of my life. Perhaps I don't quite trust myself in that respect yet.
I also begin to wonder now that perhaps I'm basing my assumptions on relationships and self incarnations of my past. I have not found someone who will make me believe in love again. But if I'm doubtful about the existence of this person, can I find her/him. Can I find the beautiful romance when I truly do believe that I am the only one that can complete me? Or am I falsely assuming that I you must believe in the idea of someone else completing you when you believe in a beautiful romance?
All I know is that I am single, beautiful, alone. But I am not lonely. I do not feel like an abandoned dove. Rather I feel like a sojourner of love--searching for the truth that is mine.
I cannot feel nor allow myself to dive that deeply in anymore. Part of me weeps at this revelation. I could not dive deep enough in my most recent relationship to match that first love. It was different. And the difference crushed my heart in a way. My romance has been tempered with realism that has seeped in as I've discovered I am not that sugar-coated princess of romances I've been taught to idealize. And the little girl in me weeps. Yet another part of me rejoices. I am free. That little girl just needs to grow up.
Because I've realized that to immerse myself that deeply in love goes against my deepest desire to maintain some state of enlightenment--a detachment from the passions that ultimately lead to suffering. I could not be passionate enough in my last relationship to keep it going. I worry that I never will be. I wonder if it even matters. Because so long as I have companionship in some way or another, I should be fine. Right? Why am I not completely convinced yet.
I think because a part of me still believes in that beautiful idea of romance. That sheltered, quiet and beautiful love that will bloom slowly and remain in full blush for the rest of my life. Or perhaps I just might have to accept that the beautiful bloom of love will almost always fade away before my life does. And there is no one to tell me what might be the truth--because I am the only truth sayer of my life. Perhaps I don't quite trust myself in that respect yet.
I also begin to wonder now that perhaps I'm basing my assumptions on relationships and self incarnations of my past. I have not found someone who will make me believe in love again. But if I'm doubtful about the existence of this person, can I find her/him. Can I find the beautiful romance when I truly do believe that I am the only one that can complete me? Or am I falsely assuming that I you must believe in the idea of someone else completing you when you believe in a beautiful romance?
All I know is that I am single, beautiful, alone. But I am not lonely. I do not feel like an abandoned dove. Rather I feel like a sojourner of love--searching for the truth that is mine.