A pattern could be a form of security. When a routine is present, all is predictable but when that is, what comes next? The happily ever after? There are no faeries here. No magic dust to tourniquet a broken spirit. This pattern could harness laughter, warmth, joy and that bond. That bond that binds, that unites and one is no longer solitary but one is a half of a whole and for that there should never come about that dreadful feeling of solitude, of loneliness, of desperation that wraps around one’s neck, gently suffocating.
I am envious of those who can settle comfortably, undemanding and content. I start to think that maybe it’s me. Maybe I will never be uncomfortable with any pattern, regardless of how sound it is most of the time. What about the other times? Is this simply a woe of someone who isn’t accustomed to happiness? No no no this is bullshit through and through because one should make their place. Just as I am madly absorbed, I expect both to be made of the same material. The sponge that takes and gives and somehow it’s an eternal dance.
I am afraid, what if the pattern I am most at ease in, is one where misery is fulfilling and joy a liability. I don’t want to be that, a liability, a chore, a responsibility.
And if the other doesn’t break the cycle and do something about this mess, I’m breaking free and I’m not turning back. When a heart is broken, can promises follow suit? Because what is worth more, the heart or the promise? And tell me, who is the bigger man, the man who is all about doing the right thing, stiff and unyielding. Or the man who can break free of his comfort zone, throw all of his rulebook out the window, make beautiful mistakes and do stupid things.
They’ve said that “If you are not willing to sound stupid, you are not worthy of being in love.”
And with that said, I’m back to square one. I’m not budging. He’s not moving. I’m wilting and what scares me is not only if he’s fine with this damaging silence, but at this very moment the tears are collecting he feels free from the burden of keeping me.
I really think I’ve brought this upon myself. I keep twisting and turning and I have no idea what the fuck I just said and what the fuck I want. I should just shoot myself before I turn into a whiner :D