There was once an innocence in all of us. Mine might have dwindled sooner than mos, but none the less it’s always something you wish you had back.
As I sit in my own skin, reflecting on everything I’ve done (or not done), I realize that it’s time to kill a part of myself. I’ve always been a hopeless romantic. A lover of love. I yearned for it, desired it, fought for it, and even conjured it out of thin air. Ever since I started “dating”, it was always my intentions to make the most of out every person who care for me. Sometimes for the worst, mostly for the better.
I wanted to be in love. The true brand. Everything that I’ve ever been told about love, taught about it, saw in a movie; I wanted.
Now, as I reflect on those loves, I find myself feeling empty of the desire. It’s a fight that I’ve had with myself on a few occasions but this last turn of events sealed the deal. I no longer want to be in love. And when I say “in love” I mean, stupidly head over heals just at the thought of someone. Not the kind of love I share with family and only a handful of friends.
The accounts of others always spurs on the same tale. “You can’t be half of a whole without being a whole entirely on your own”. And I guess they’re right. So I’ve got to focus. I’ve got a lot of work cut out for me. How do I kill a part of me that made me blissfully happy for so many years. The ignorance has lifted on the forecast, it seems that sunnier days are ahead. Some of you will say “But Wyatt, what if love finds you?” and to that… I say…. I don’t know. It’s historically impossible to assume that humans have ever been capable of completely turning aside love as it barrels towards them. On the other hand, I can’t do it anymore. Not now anyways.
Of course there will be a day, a week, a year, where I just wake up and feel in love again. Or at least re-embrace the idea of love. Presented with the opportunities to be “cared for” has twisted my brain. The old me, would love to just feel that warm embrace of a human, or caring. But I just can’t live like that anymore. I quit smoking, I’ve got to quit the hopeless romantics. It’s turning out to be bad for my health. At the end of the day, I lay in my bed not knowing who is the person that my brain is trapped inside.
While the pup looks at me the same, I don’t feel the same. Not tainted, but no longer pure of that tangible desire.
My life is going to be filled with so much sun, but as is reality, there will be days or pure rain. I’ve got to train my brain into not seeking the light from others. My own source of the hope must be tapped into if I am to survive. In a few weeks I’ll begin the journey of 100% fresh starts. Make new friends, maybe re-kindle old ones, who knows. There are many unknown paths in the road up ahead for this one time romantic.