It is sad, and something else at the same time. looking back on growing up through heartbreak. I started out so innocent, instantly falling in love and being loved. No questions as to the nature of the person I loved, no care as to their own likes or dislikes. It came natural at a young age, giving my heart freely with everything inside, soul and all. The first time it was broken it healed…but just a little funny, like a broken nose. As I grew up, I began to become wary of the hands in which I placed my heart. Anymore I find myself watching, ready to catch it and run away if it seams they may fumble and drop it. I try hard but I can not feel as I did those first few times. Love is so much like a drug, in that the more I use it, the more places I go to find it, the more it deadens my feeling. I feel guarded, unable to tear down walls I built out of selfishness to prevent feeling. The comedowns aren’t all as bad, but the highs always seem jaded by the feeling that somewhere soon, I’ll be falling again. The ground rushing up at breakneck speeds, my mind screaming
“WHAT WERE YOU THINKING”!
Then it hits, and back on the ground I find myself staring, riveted by the clouds. I trace them with my fingers, pretending I’m flying again, fingers locked wind rushing under the heat of the sun. I could almost convince myself
“I haven’t fallen…”
“this didn’t happen again, not this time…”
“this time it was right”
The rock in my back says otherwise, and pretty soon I am up, hurting, and building walls to keep out the light. Big high walls so I don’t have to see the clouds anymore, remember the feel of the wind in my hair and the taste of sunlight high above the clouds.
Sad, happy that I’ve learned, experienced life. Sad at the price it seams I’ve paid.
How much would you give of yourself, If promised one more love like the first one?
I bet I find it again, somewhere outside my walls.
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