The inevitable disappointment wasn't particularly surprising this time 'round.
Still, I thought we'd, at least, give it a go.
Perhaps it's because we are afraid of ruining what we've come to understand as a constant: this comfortable, reliable kinship, that we should throw caution to the wind. If we didn't care so much, it wouldn't be worth it.
Perhaps my not being as afraid as you should be an indication of how the very idea is (was?) preposterous.
The pattern we follow -- in every fifth year we find something exciting, welcoming, and somehow forbidden in each other is always marked for downfall as my passion reaches its peak only to discover your passion's passed.
This time was slightly different.
This time all seemed surface-well when questions queered my brain. Wormed their way, writhed through my dreams, confirming what I never chose to admit.
I am not ready.
I won't ever be.
And even if pangs of jealousy overtake my stomach, boiling into angry butterflies who gnaw at the lining, once I hear you've moved on (or, better still, moved back) I'll know it's because the illusory comfort we shared lulled me into fear of losing what might, what could, what possibilities...
My New Year's resolution:
stop fooling myself
into fooling you.
And, like all good New Years resolutions,
I'll have broken it by next Tuesday.
Still, I thought we'd, at least, give it a go.
Perhaps it's because we are afraid of ruining what we've come to understand as a constant: this comfortable, reliable kinship, that we should throw caution to the wind. If we didn't care so much, it wouldn't be worth it.
Perhaps my not being as afraid as you should be an indication of how the very idea is (was?) preposterous.
The pattern we follow -- in every fifth year we find something exciting, welcoming, and somehow forbidden in each other is always marked for downfall as my passion reaches its peak only to discover your passion's passed.
This time was slightly different.
This time all seemed surface-well when questions queered my brain. Wormed their way, writhed through my dreams, confirming what I never chose to admit.
I am not ready.
I won't ever be.
And even if pangs of jealousy overtake my stomach, boiling into angry butterflies who gnaw at the lining, once I hear you've moved on (or, better still, moved back) I'll know it's because the illusory comfort we shared lulled me into fear of losing what might, what could, what possibilities...
My New Year's resolution:
stop fooling myself
into fooling you.
And, like all good New Years resolutions,
I'll have broken it by next Tuesday.