Sometimes I make my own head spin, thinking that I don’t know what love truly is. My mothers idea of love is so warped by the way she was ill treated and raised. So in turn I don’t feel like I know what love truly is. For me my mothers love has shown that to love is to forgive, but to a fault. To love until you’re black and blue because the other person may not truly love you, but you’re devoted either way.
My love is movies and books and old love songs. Things not based in reality 100% of the time. An idealized love without complications. Just happy endings and wind swept hair.
Whenever I feel this sadness I tend to break up with the guy I’m casually seeing. I’ll tell him i think it’s best if we not see each other anymore because I like him more than he likes me. Or maybe he’s moving away sooner or later and I use that as an excuse. Now while these excuses are kind of lame but actually true I’m mostly doing it for one reason, to test the waters.
What I really want is for him to fight for me. Fight for a relationship. Most of the time they usually just agree and it just makes me even sadder.
I’m deflated and no one really loves me or wants me.
I remember when I was younger and I would feel this way. An overwhelming sadness due to an accumulation of things. I never knew what it was exactly that brought it on or exactly what to focus on while I was sad. Rather it was like my heart was just tired and heavy from all the crap I had absorbed.
Back then I would lay in bed and just sob. Body heaving, snot inducing sobs. Racking my body, feeling myself shudder and shake.
Tonight that feeling came back, welcome old friend I said to myself. I was momentarily happy as I thought about how long it’s been since I felt this way and then suddenly a sad song came on my random playlist and I sank back.
I laid here quietly and three tears ran from my right eye. I felt them stream down my face and felt as though I could hear them dropping onto my pillow. And that was it.
I don’t know if I should be worried that it’s come to this. Or maybe I should be happy that I’m not as distraught as I use to be, or maybe I’m just handling things better now that I’m older. The poetic me wants to say that maybe I ran out of tears and the silly me says maybe I have to start rationing.