We are only as loving as our last relationship and if it burned you, you will put on one of those heat-resistant blankets and head for the Santa Ana winded hills. A fellow blogger laid it all on the line the other night in a Dear Diary section where she discussed her harsh reality and outlook on relationships. How unfair it is.
Welcome to the club, darlin.
Our relationship history packs all of our issues from past unions and folds them nicely in a suitcase called baggage. When you're young, you love unabashedly, wrecklessly, without warrant or fear of heartbreak. Until that first heartbreak and then you're like, whoa. This hurts. A lot. But then someone else comes along and the black and blue heals from your heart just long enough for you to forget the previous pain and love hard once again. But of course, this happens a few times and what have you got? One bruised and beaten heart. Instead, you put up a nice sturdy wall to keep the punching bag untouched. You foray into these relationships where you don't give an inch, don't love fully, hold out and hold it in or worse, don't even care. For the opposite of love isn't hate, it's indifference and if you don't care, that's when there's a problem. Not caring, especially once you've realized this, is the worst feeling. It's just sad, unfortunate that the things from the past have affected your present and if you're not careful, will radically change your future. There is good news, though. If you simply hate the game for all it's done to you, you're still in good shape. Hate is better than not carring. There's still emotion, still some hope. I suspect the pendulum will swing back and we'll all have hearts for eyeballs again some day.
Love is a battlefield and we can't sit on the sidelines and watch, yes it's safe over there. We don't get beaten and bruised, but it's certainly the best way to ensure that we never get hit by cupid's arrow at all. For all our rough edges and burnt fingers, we still just want to love and be loved in return. Every girl has that skewed vision of a Prince riding in on a valiant steed and despite those who've shown exactly what a Prince is not, the dream still lives on, even if subconscious, it's flickering away like a candle left in the rain too long. So here's to letting go of the past, of not loving like you've never been hurt, but loving selectively, reserving it for those who are truly deserving-an invite only type of party. And if they leave the gig early, burning you once again, brush yourself off and try again.
That bitch stole my line,