Regrettably,
inspiration escaped hours ago. But I, being the stubborn fighter that I am,
picked up my pen (sword, bla) to attempt the amazing.
I wonder
why I’m scared. Love. I try to convince myself I don’t believe in it, nor in
its calculated numbing tendencies. That’s what love does, or at least the
notion of it; love makes everything better. Before it makes everything worse.
But, I feel
it now. Suddenly. Thrusting towards me. His hands are a companion. His hands I
want to hold. One would think I’d cry more. He’s definitely one to cry over. He
is magic.
I will allow him to penetrate into every drop
of existence I can possibly tolerate. Says the shrew. But I don’t want to fall
in love with him. The departure would be too painful. Love is fleeting.
Is this wise or ignorant? Am I hurling the cup of life to the ground?
Shattering it intentionally? Have I, as the old knight would disappointingly
testify, chosen poorly? Is the unexamined life not worth living or the unlived
one. Precautions can sometimes ruin the beauty that could be.