No fluff, shooting (writing) from the hip

“No matter how powerful and real your feelings may be for someone, if that person cannot fully and honestly return them and therefore actively love you back, these feelings mean nothing. Being lonely … being alone … for many people … sucks. I get it, I get it, I get it. But still I have to say that yes, my belief is that being with somebody who makes you feel shitty or doesn’t honor the person you are is worse. Life is hard enough as it is without choosing someone difficult to share it with.You deserve to be with someone who is nice to you all the time.” - Unknown (found on Tumblr)


You know what I am tired of?  I am so tired of ...

Aina, you're so wonderful.
Aina, you're amazing.
Aina, you're so beautiful.
Aina, you are incredible.
Aina, your heart is so pure.
Aina, you have such good intentions about everything.
Aina, I love you.
Aina, I care for you.
Aina, you're perfect for me.

But ......

Aina, it just wouldn't work between us.


This has been the dominant story of my romantic life.
Every time I allow myself to start to care for someone -- and it has not a regular occurrence -- they say ...
"You're great, and I love/care for you but ...."

And maybe that is why I can not write.
Perhaps I should close that chapter so that I can move to create my own works -
My image of what love is.
To see love as fiction.  Ain't that funny?  And ironic?
And pathetic?
Love is fiction.  Love is fictional.  It feels good while consuming it, but it's not really there.
I should stop letting my feelings define me and, maybe, define my feelings?
Let love go ... give up.

Should I give up?

Maybe.
At the moment I am not convinced there is a reason not to.
Love eludes me, runs from me, hides.
I'm not sure I can write about it anymore.

Love escapes me, so I'll write about lust and fucking.