Once upon a time every new relationship was a potentially beautiful adventure. I would have jumped off the cliff without really thinking about it, arms opened, enjoying the flight before the inevitable fall. Now, I'm standing at the edge and I'm afraid. So afraid that I can't take any pleasure in feeling what I may allow myself to feel. So afraid that I'm fighting my instinct to cut my losses and run in the opposite direction. To escape the lure of the deep end and run to the shallows, because at least when you play there there's no risk of drowning.
It's tempting, to take another risk. And I'm more tempted than I have in a long time. But I find myself standing here thinking I can't do it. I can't trust that I'll not be screwed over. I wonder if when cynicism and distrust wins out over faith and possibility one can say one has truly grown up? If it is, then I can safely say that growing up truly sucks.
Somebody asked me yesterday if what happened before scarred me. I thought it hadn't, but I realize just now how much it did. I wonder if, they'd understand that it's not that I don't want to, in fact it just shows how very very much I want to. In a sense it's pure flattery, this strange retreat. If one chooses to take it as such. But despite the desire to, I can't I think. Unless it's casual, and it means nothing. Because even though I've made it this far without breaking, but I'm not sure how much more I have. How long I can go on.
I wonder how I can say I'm ready for marriage when I don't think I'm ready for a relationship? Maybe because I'm not prepared to give in my all. Maybe because the arrangement, if and when it occurs, will be a happy compromise. I'll risk my future, perhaps. But the masks will remain intact, and with them, my soul.
And as any good gambler knows, if the odds are against you, and the stakes are too high, it's better to fold no matter how tempting the pot.
Don't you think?