Undeniable is the fact that we all have our insecurities, each and everyone of us-if we look hard enough into who we are, or if we know someone well enough to really see, these insecurities are like the writing on the wall. The trouble with insecurities though, is that in a moment-or a relationship-or an epiphany an insecurity might be erased, but, more often than they are erased they are born of fire, and when they are, like it or not, they are worn on our sleeves-in a manner of speaking. I can spot these, but I’m always looking, wondering, comparing-trying to guess the story behind your very own, very ‘you’ tragedy. And yes insecurity bequeaths me-one of two years in the making. I would hesitate to agree with the adage that love is a dangerous thing-potentially dangerous would go further toward justifying this instable emotion-and yes instable it is, and so just happened to be. My first love, first nearly everything that romance grants grinds to painful, incomprehensible halt-the disaster that unfolds at the pace of a heart beating-to the soundtrack of “please, don’t…” and “but Babe we can work it out…” and then what? Time…and more time… And finally all seems healed…seems…OK. Six months after OK-a handful of random hook-ups, of dinner dates and awkward mornings-emotionless, “I’ll call”, or “That was great, I really enjoyed it”. Never discount the ability to lie like you mean it as a priceless skill-at the very least it gives them a good day or two’s dreamy thoughts of what kind of ideal romantic has just f**ked his way into their life. Commitment is my insecurity, well perhaps the idea of commitment, however basic undeniable honesty hints that I really mean love-at least it’s easily avoided-but what of a life without love? Love-instable; why seek something so positively short lived? Why?
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