My rhetorical question I feel has been unequivocally answered; for just as in a theoretical junior-high romance, the reality of it lasted just as long. Days feel like weeks, but in the end, a couple starting out from the gate like that rarely makes it to any finish line, much less a next level.
Not my words. Next level, I mean.
Honestly, I hate it when I'm proven right. I really do. More and more, my hypotheses are wont to be pessimistic versus optimistic. Typically, I'm on the money. Oh, indeed, I'm on the money with the optimistic ones, as well.
Usually. But frighteningly TOO GOOD with the pessimism, the...rightness of my "good things gone bad" guesses.
While it's true that time -- our greatest enemy and often ally -- will tell, it's such a small window that to count on it could be to lose a hand.
Or a neck.
Or an I. Or E. (Except after sea.)
The maelstrom of this week finally came to a head, resolutions, I thought, were made, feet, I thought, firmly planted in the ground. And thennnnn...boom.
I'm hoping this is just a matter of...fatigue. Or...something. I hope I am being overly analytical in this matter, and that really, it's simpler and all will be greaaaaat by the time the sun sets.
But that whispering voice in my ear, the one which represents pessimism and reason, is telling me to dream on.
And so I do. Happily, I know when to wake up. I know when to journal my dreams, and when to simply leave them locked up in the dark recesses of my endless, cerebral filing cabinets, unattended and waiting for the next opportunity to let someone in, and then give them WIDE berth of reason, and THEN, further, watch as they unfurl so much that their flag can't possible withstand the flimsy pole from which it comes.
And it falls softly to the ground. With time, it becomes trampled, lost, forgotten, even. Time does that. We can learn from this, truly, but mourn it -- particularly since the unfurling was so quick -- would be a gross waste of time.
Even if love was introduced. Because that's no one's definition. Not even The Warden's.
And that, really is perhaps the worst thing of it all.
"But daddy, I ate my ham sandwich like you asked me!"
"Sweetheart, I'll give you chance after chance if you'll throw a bone my way every year or so!"
"Darling, I'll forgive you for neglecting me, because I know that whatever it was had to be more important than, say, keeping your word to me!"
"LOVE has no boundaries, no limits, no shame, no grief, no regrets."
Love is fleeting? Never.
Love is the heart's real estate. That's how you know, you see, if you love and are loved back. Your lover is a tenant in your heart -- sometimes late with the rent, sometimes too noisy at night, but the one tenant you'll never kick out. Once you love, that tenant resides there forever, and no one -- no matter how hard they try -- can ever fill the space of your love. While some have large condominiums full of space, others are quite limited.
Mine is a small, compact but prestigious little handful. None of which I have to question, none of whom are GROSSLY negligent about the noise or the rent, and all of whom are loyally staying right there, tucked away in their hard-earned places of my heart's warm shelter.
I wonder why we didn't choose the liver. Or perhaps the spleen? What is it about the heart that we put so much importance on? It's just an organ like any other. Vital, yes. But wouldn't the BRAIN be more appropriate? Just sayin'. Makes more sense to me. Plus, the brain is larger and could house more people to love, right?
Wrong. The brain is, after all, so much smarter than the heart could ever be.