The Girl You Hate To Love

“You love the Sox, but have they ever loved you back?”

Falling in love is easy. Loving the fall? Not so much. Everyone dates the wrong person. You have to, because, if you don’t, you’ll never know the right one. Sometimes, the wrong person and the right person are the same, separated by some semblance of time, space and contingency.  Sometimes, you only ‘date’ that person in your mind. Sometimes you’re thirty, in your parents’ basement, and your lunch still has no crust. Sometimes, you’re spoiled with an incredible relationship, incredible person, or incredible stipulation. Sometimes you’ve settled for less than what you deserve, others you deserve much less than has been settled for. Sometimes you win, other times you don’t. Sometimes circumstance trumps what is earned, and sometimes what is earned trumps circumstance. Sometimes it’s perfect, so it’s not; others, it’s not perfect, therefore it is. Sometimes the world is just not ready for what you have to offer, what you want to give, what you long to love and be  part of. More often than not, the ‘world’ is not a ‘what’, but a ‘who’.

 

And then there’s that one person. Not ‘The One”. No, the other one. The one you’re not supposed to be with. On paper, it’s great; in person, it’s greater. You laugh, smile, skip through meadows and fields and maybe even listen to everything the other has to say and enjoy it. Your chemistry is undeniable, unmatchable, and makes up for the terrible grade you got in Chem 101 your freshman year of college. You have all of these wonderful, incredible and glorious things, until you don’t. Suddenly, the sun begins to hide behind something you can’t see. Laughing is no longer happy, smiles fade away and meadows turn to thorn bushes. It’s as if the world is spinning on a different axis and the atmosphere has completely changed. You’re lost in a place you used to call ‘home’, but this home is certainly not where the heart is. No, certainly not, because the heart has gone missing: ripped out, stolen quite literally from under your nose, tossed aside and trampled.

As you wander along this new, paradoxical world you once thought you knew, you question what you believe. Were the laughs, smiles, skipping and fields true, or just a dream glorified by inception of something you thought you had and wanted? Are the rainbows really what is beautiful, or is storm that brought them to light the real holder of beauty?

“THE EDGE, there is no honest way to explain it because the only people who really know where it is are the ones who have gone over.”- Hunter S. Thompson

Just when it appears there is nothing left to hold on to you find hope, no longer abstract and suddenly tangible, and cling to it. Lost in a world they call ‘love’ is a wonderfully, terrifying predicament, depending on the day. So you go back to what you know, or what you think you know, or what you think you once thought you knew, and look for more tangibility. Upon searching, however, you can only grasp to enigma, and, as your only option, you choose to do so. In time this grip loosens and eventually is lost all together, so you fall. On the way down the process is repeated, and to those viewing from the looking glass the efforts have become futile, if not altogether fallacious. You can’t explain it to them, though, because they haven’t yet gone over. So you keep falling, endlessly, repeatedly grabbing at hope, hoping for different results.

 

The Red Sox just got swept by the lowly Blue Jays, are last in the division, and through 96 games have lost as many as they’ve won. Times have changed, folks, but time hasn’t ended. If insanity is doing the same thing over and over again expecting different results, don’t call me crazy. Call me a lover. A fighter. A Red Sox fan.

 

When you’ve reached the end of your line, tie a knot in it, and hold on. Hope.

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