“I think that when we look for love courageously, it reveals itself, and we wind up attracting even more love. If one person really wants us, everyone does. But if we’re alone, we become even more alone. Life is strange.”-Paulo Coelho
I tried choosing what I fell in love with, perhaps that’s been my problem. I’ve always positioned myself for someone else and never really landed safely- skidding into road rash and chaos . I won’t pretend the solitude isn’t anything but silence and contemplation; sometimes it’s more the feeling of standing at Grand Central Station and watching every other train car plow past in a windy fury. In all honesty: I fear singledom has made me selfish, or less beautifully naive than I used to be; doey eyed and starstruck in the amusement of falling into something that never helps you get back up but rather leaves you crippled and bear and watches silently as you struggle. In short: I’m not worried.
Someday, there will be someone who might not get yet understand the raw wording of a single lyric I love, or my obsession with the feeling of the sunshine hitting my eyelids like warm water when my face is washed- but he’ll understand the importance of me and I will understand that I don’t need to be simply important for his love.
I’ve begun falling in love with the world again- it’s almost childlike. When I was in gradeschool, I wasn’t concerned about the opposite sex or filling my life with someone else- I was concerned about living each day; building, playing and creating moments to the fullest- imagination’s gone wild. I literally stare at the corners of my home until I have to look away. It’s a giant fortress, and instead of blankets and tipped over chairs it holds cabinets of food, matching dishes and space: which happens to be my favorite thing of all. A girl with her dollhouse, I suppose.
