for fear of losing.

December 7, 2009 § 3 Comments

My experience with love is marked by heaviness. It fills every empty space. It grows into something larger than just emotions, and it swallows me up.  When in love, I become a hopeless fool who comes to the frightening realization that she has something great to lose.

I’ve lived my life doing two things: first, going against my mother’s sound advice, and second, ultimately proving that she was right.  Often, her lessons stick, but there’s one that I can’t seem to fully absorb. It’s that I should avoid becoming totally consumed by the experience of, the agony of, the mere thought of love.

To my brilliant mother, there should be boundaries, there should be realism, there should be focus — on myself, my career, my family and friends, my passions and interests, my responsibilities — and there must be some mechanism set in place for my own survival.  Some kind of method for self-protection, self-preservation.

No matter how many times I remind myself to, well, remember my Self while in the throes of love, I have always, always, always wholly surrendered myself to it.  And, when it ends, or when I think of the possibility of its conclusion, I always hesitate and recall my mother’s words. And I wonder whether I should’ve limited the ease and the depth of my vulnerability. To guard my Self for the fear of losing what could be so amazing — amazing enough to want to keep it forever, amazing enough that, when it is gone, a part of me is lost too.

Having felt the bitterness of love’s disappointment in the past, I tiptoe around the edges of the dangerous type of love, fearing the forthcoming fall, fearing the sound of “forever” on our lips. Because, this time, with this lover, if “forever” is betrayed by happenstance, then what would be of what’s left of me?


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