My Wall.

Its not that I hate love.

Nobody hates love. You can’t hate love. It’s just that I don’t love love.
I believe in the process of love – of walking on the beach, of talking into the night, of candlelight and roses. I can’t and I won’t believe in the harsher truths of love, in the snaring trust, and the dependency that it brings. I believe in the purity and the vulnerability of the emotion, yet I can’t stand the cloyish feeling of suffocation it brings.

What do you call love? What do you want me to believe in? What do I want to believe in? Who do I invest in? Why?

Why does it seem like love is a translucent blindfold, the best quality, but a blindfold all the same. You fall in love, and then you never seem to see right again…either you see through the blindfold, that tints and shades everything, or you don’t see at all. Why does it seem like I can’t see, hear, or feel anything beyond that mind numbing, fleeting happiness, the suffocating joy, and I’m content with it…and I’m not expected to want to sense anything else. Yet, it all affects me, today, now, every minute – and consumes the rest of my world, my friends, my family, my life, and suddenly it is my world.

And then you are my wall… thunk…thunk…thunk…my head battering against it again and again, in a futile attempt to amalgamate my world with you, and you with my world, to include your life in mine, to get you to understand me as much as I understand you, or I think I do. And that wall refuses to break, standing strong in its obstinacy and all its intuitive stubborn-ness. And I crumble against you instead, breaking, cracking, slowly, steadily.

And that’s why you can’t ignore love…because it does things that you can’t understand, that you can’t deal with or maybe wont. And that’s love, strong, powerful, pure, suffocating, annoying, out-there and all pervasive. Un-ignorable, ignoble and powerfully white.