harmless afflictions, painful addictions.
"I walk into an empty room,
And suddenly my heart goes boom.
It´s an orchestra of angels,
And they are playing with my heart." -- Eurythmics
I have always loved the idea of love more than the act of it.
As a teenager, I consumed a steady diet of intense, ridiculous crushes. Obsessions that bordered on unhealthy, in restrospect, seem like harmless symptoms of surging hormones. By sheer luck, I missed out on acne and braces, but I was afflicted with infatuation.
I realized recently that I miss having crushes. Certainly, there was a large amount of pain involved in the gamble of unreturned desire. But, I miss the longing of potential. I miss the electricity of space between two bodies as they near each other and wonder if the other wants to kiss them back.
It annoys me how faithful I can and have been in my relationship. It doesn't seem like me to not have had an affair. Aren't I still that girl that once wrote long, rambling dissertations on the draconian scourge of puritan monogamy?
Despite the overwhelming circumstance of my immediate family crisis, my vision is keenly focused on the path leading towards my future. I still have an eye trained on early spring -- a future in which I will be standing alone in this world again. No longer half of a couple.
Yes, yes, long term love is wonderful. There's comfort and security. There is warmth and easiness. But, if I have learned anything these past few weeks, it is that security is an illusion of the mind, not the heart. Knowing something is certain will surely sustain you in times of doubt, but hoping for something unexpected will drive you beyond the pallor of mere existence.
And although I'm sure I will miss the solid floor beneath my feet that has sustained me for six years, I look forward to stumbling through the passion of a crush again. And, perhaps, actually acting on it -- recklessly.