It has become clear in recent years that I have a difficult time staying unattached. I don’t have a hard time being alone though, I enjoy alone, but I love having that person, that affection, that security. I enjoy having someone to throw my arms around when I walk in the door. I enjoy having a face to hold and kiss and adore. I enjoy having someone to dream of and write about. I enjoy having someone to plan and imagine a future with. I enjoy having someone to love.
Even while single, it’s highly likely that I have someone in mind, that I’m not so patiently biding my time. It’s quite likely that I’m either healing or pining or hoping to be noticed, hoping that they’ll see me, that they’ll be accepting of the person I’ve become and excited about the person I’m still growing into.
Despite having applied my best effort in years past, I fail miserably at taking it slow, at playing it safe with the dispersal of my attachments. I throw myself into the ring and sometimes I’m met with an even match, other times I find myself vastly out-classed. In the end it makes no difference the outcome; I love to love and be loved, even if it’s temporary. I put more of myself into loving than is likely advisable. I believe in hope, which some see as naive, but what other way is there to love people but totally and completely.
It does make me curious though, what this might actually say about me. Regardless of the pummeling I have survived at the hand of lost loves, I wouldn’t have it any other way. I love big, not because it’s expected or beautiful or romantic, but because I know no other way.