Love or Not...

A month back, I met an interesting man at a cafe where I enjoy spending time. A group of us were all out on the patio. I was sitting next to a young guy who I discovered writes poetry. To make a long story short, the topic of love came up. Poetry and love go together, don't they? Truth is, I was embarrassed to share my work, afraid of being ridiculed, judged or misunderstood. Well, I felt vulnerable...and who wants to feel vulnerable? I told them I would show them my writing next time. Of course, I didn't. It surprised me to be having a conversation with people who knew nothing about me and who seemed genuinely interested in reading my writing. And...they're men...Most men don't give a shit about any of that, unless they're trying to impress a woman. And, I'm not that special. Nor am I pretty. I mean, there are plenty of beautiful women out there. I am not one of them.

G, the Spanish man, said, "Love doesn't exist." I thought about an entry I'd read in one of Luis Manuel Ruiz's books...The title of the book escapes me now. Maybe it wasn't even one of his books. It could have been Paulo Coelho's...In any case, it was about a man who didn't believe "real" or "true" love existed between a man and a woman. I sat there trying to convince G that he was wrong. "Of course love exists!" He said that he would never fall in love again, that he had loved once and got burned. A part of me was envious. I thought it was strange because how does anyone really have that kind of control over something so uncontrollable? The heart wants what it wants. Maybe he's right, though. Maybe love doesn't exist, not "that" kind.

How many clues does the Universe have to show me in order for me to see and recognize my own disappointment? How many signs do I need for me to see the truth...not as I want or wish it to be...but as it really IS? I'm a fool. I live in dream. Love is work. The honeymoon always ends...

Life is just one big game, a stage of players...of winners and losers. I'm a loser. I don't play right. I don't even know how to play. My heart is too big and yet, not big enough. She needs to be tamed because I'll get hurt, otherwise. No one will hurt me again. Not if I can help it. I don't care whether I'm seen as a cynic or a pessimist. I don't care. I can love and still guard my heart. It's a difficult endeavour but doable, nonetheless. What I want does not exist on this plane. On this earth. On this planet. We're just a bunch of fools who think we're wise. We're just children living in adult bodies. We're broken.

I'm told that I'm lucky. I'm told that I have everything. There are times I wish I was like my father. He fulfilled his mission...found a woman he loved, had three children, worked at a stable job, gambled on weekends...He longed and yearned for nothing more than what he had. But, my mother? No...she's not so happy. She's miserable, actually. I am not my father. I am not my mother. I am not my brothers, either. I don't know what I am. I only know what I am not. How can I be my parents' daughter? I don't belong. I don't fit. I don't make sense.

I thought there would be "more." I believed there would be more to this life. I thought that once I got better, that once I became well, after two years of the darkest time in my life...I would be able to see the silver lining in anything and everything. I so believed that I would never complain and here I am, complaining about this sadness which lingers, which will not leave me. It's bullshit. Where's the relief?

I'm really tired of hearing that you can't rely on anyone...ever. I'd like to fall one fucking time and know someone will catch me. I'd like to know that I can be weak and my world won't fall apart. Is that too much to ask for? Apparently, it is. Well, at least I know I can depend on myself. If I don't have myself, what do I really have? That's right...nothing.