At the age of 11 or 12, I realized for the first time that I was not invincible and that I was not loved by all. It was the beginning of a different world. I've been alone ever since.
Since my 12th year, I have become careful about what I say. The words that exit me must reflect the essence of who I am. I can look back on my life and be proud of those words, because I do not set out to hurt others. I'm not naive enough to believe that I haven't hurt, but I take comfort in the fact that when a question is asked of me, I answer with honesty. I have always wanted that in return.
I always explain to my ESL students the difference between 'alone' and 'lonely'. You can be alone without being lonely and you can be lonely without being alone. You can also be alone and lonely all at the same time. I have been in each of those shoes forever, it seems; taking off one pair to put on the other the next day and so on. The best shoes are the 'alone' shoes, those moments when I take myself away from the everyday and experience things that could not have been done with others.
Today... I am alone and lonely and in pain. As I was yesterday and all the days before, for the past month.
I have met those who believe in the ever-lasting theory of love and those who have decided the word means nothing. It is just a word, after all.
But I am a woman of words and they mean the world to me.
I have loved. And I believe I have been loved. Those are memories that I will always hold dear and they are people I will always love. But it's not enough, is it? Your willingness to love and be loved has no bearing on what you will receive and how intentions become twisted with a little time and misguidance.
You want to be careful, you want to protect yourself from the hurt, but in the end you either leave yourself open to it or you shut yourself off from any of the wonder.
What makes some able to make things work? How do they manage to balance the pain and the joy and find a happy medium? I have tried to approach it from different angles, always trying to find the right combination of elements and yet keep falling flat on my face.
This love is no different.
I wanted it to work so badly. I saw things in him I thought would complement me. I saw pieces of me come out that I thought had disappeared in my last great disaster of a love. There was true hope there, a feeling that anything could happen, that we had the strength to work through the kinks. I imagined the respect we had for each other would allow us both to grow.
These are the kinds of failures I can't seem to get over. If I try my best at work and it doesn't succeed, it hurts, but I find other ways to cope. I figure, it is not my calling, it is not my true passion, it should not matter so much. How can you say the same for love? I am not one of those who falls in love and, then a few months later, grows out of it. It sticks, forever.
One will always be loved for his softness and sweetness.
Two will be loved for waking in me sensations I will always cherish and an appreciation and understanding for art I have yet to find anywhere else.
Three... three is loved, purely, still. And it is hard to say goodbye.
Will I ever be able to move on, without the knowledge of what went wrong?
Is this the lesson I must learn this time around?
Is this a foreshadowing of the misunderstandings and the giving ups that are to come?
Will I ever be able to muster up the energy to try it all again? Better yet, do I want to?
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