We were idiots. We were idealists. We were not in love. We were more in like. We were two naive souls, hellbent on sharing a dream. Yet we were both awake in the real world. Where we could not fly. Where we refused to fly. Where we were too afraid to fly.

There is no moving forward in unison. Nor is there going back. Either choice would be redundant if the ultimate goal is an attempt of bringing flame to ashes. The phoenix did not die for the phoenix did not live. We were not a fairy tale. We are who we are. We were - nay - are fuckups. Monumentally, irrevocable and undeniable fuckups. But we had fun. We shared laughs. We whispered of futures, of plans and hopes. Flirtations into a horrifically terrifying and beautiful unknown with hints of each other but with the facts of reality bringing us back. We were not meant to be and so we were not.

What is debatable now is whether these actions were more brave or cowardly. Depending on the viewpoint, they were a distinct mixture of both. Chaos in perfection. To believe in an ‘us’ that had consistently shown hope of a ‘maybe’ could be seen as foolish because the ‘maybe’ is not guaranteed. But so is everything in life, apart from death. And in our own case it was the acceptance of this death, albeit premature or long overdue, that was the answer to the question and uncertainty of “maybe”

Goodbyes are goodbyes. No one really likes them, everyone has to go through them. The degree of how smooth or horrible the goodbye is depends on the emotional investment that one has in the relationship. One can be immensely vested in that bond whether it be friendship, romance or even at work, and when the time comes to an end this can be a rather harrowing and generally unpleasant experience to say the least. On the other hand, one can have a can full of gas and a fistful of matches at the ready to burn a bridge.

The thing I have had to accept about goodbye’s are just as Benjamin Disraeli said on change: Goodbye’s are constant, goodbye’s are inevitable. At any given point in life there is someone entering your life and there is someone in the process of leaving. The goodbye can be dragged out for months or can happen in an hour, but the inevitability of the event remains. You can fight for something and prolong the stay, but nothing is forever (so I’m told). When I see a goodbye on the horizon, I tend to draw back from the person. My best friend was leaving town and I drew back. It wasn’t personal, I just don’t cope with such events very well. Each to his bizarre own I presume.

I’ve had my fair share of goodbyes. Forced and chosen. I’m not quick to walk away from someone whom I hold dear because they are very few as is. Yet, if needed, after much consideration I will make the tough decision and turn my back. Why? Because I have seen the failure of relationships due to the cowardly act of “trying to work it out”. I’m not saying give up, I’m saying know your bounds and limits. Know you. Know that you can appreciate what was without spoiling the memory by keeping what is. It takes a lot of strength to say goodbye and mean it. To burn a bridge and only look back because you enjoy the lights the fire made. The choice is up to you.

She asked of my heart
   and why it beats low
I said there is none
   it moved far away

She asked where is my heart
   and when it shall return
I said it is in a small box
   in the town of Birmingham

She asked to have my heart
   or at least what was left
I said open your hand
   out poured shards of glass

She asked why my heart
   has been crushed and torn
I said don’t blame the past
   it was ripped by my own hands

I have to admit. I am lost. Truly, utterly and incomprehensibly lost….

For most of my life, I’ve been comfortable with myself. I relish the comforts of solitude. It is a habitat which I feel safe and familiar with. But of late, after so much going on in my life I have lost touch with me. The me that I learned to care for. To love. I’m slowly slipping into a place that I know will be near impossible to come back from. And with this fact I am terrified. I have seen mere glimpses of me in this state and it is a sight I would wish on no person.

Someone help me find me…

Logic has no place in the realm of love

I don’t feel… This is no secret, but it isn’t something I shout from rooftops. It is not my pride. It is my shame. The supposed inability to feel doesn’t come from strength. This need to build walls around myself doesn’t originate from arrogance and self exultation.

I refuse to feel because I am scared. I’ll admit it with restraint because it is never something to be proud of. To feel you have to be strong. You have to be willing to be able to be broken and trod on because of the expectation and optimism that somehow, the feeling is reciprocated.

I can’t do that. I want to put myself out there and say I like you or I love you. But there is the possibility of that negative reply – of rejection. The chance that I will pour my heart out until there are bits of it on the floor and all I get is someone walking over them. The brave do it and they pick up those pieces, and they do it again. Some may say that is stupid - sometimes it is. But there is still the chance of pouring out your heart and the person bends down and helps you pick it up. You feel together.

I’m afraid that my heart and all its content might not be enough. That it is insufficient. That it is the wrong person I’m giving it to. I am afraid of that cliff where I jump off and there is no one to catch me. I want to be able to jump off with someone and we both fly. But the existence of gravity in the form of rejection means I will stay as far away from the cliff as I possibly can.

There are many people right now in my life that I can and should feel for -  beautiful girls with the most interesting of worlds and most of dazzling smiles. They want to know that I can feel so they aren’t alone. Yet all they get is a shrug of the shoulder. I hope that one day, very soon, I can look at a girl and in honesty say that “I have feelings for you”. I want to jump and hope to fly and be brave enough to face the possibility of a fall. I want it all. But until that day, I will be the person who looks at the cliff and goes as far away as possible, because that fall is one of the most terrifying things I can think of. And I don’t know if I will be able to pick myself back up

I’ll admit it. I like, nay, love women. This being said, I’m not some chauvinistic masculinity-obsessed skirt monger looking for the next leg. Rather, my love delves deeper to the fact that I appreciate and even adore women.

Simple truth: Given the right woman at any time and I am completely powerless
Note to simple truth: There are very few ‘right’ women and countless pretenders.

What does this perceived love/appreciation entail? The majority is this somewhat futile obsession to understand the female psyche. No, I am not disillusioned to think I can. Instead, I believe that if I am unable to define a lady (not in totality, but generally) from a meeting and/or a decent conversation , I am intrigued. The inability to fully or even partially describe and comprehend her means she has a certain quality that surely is worth working to find. Or at least I am naïve enough to hope so.

Another truth: There are too many boring, one-dimensional people in this world. Pretty girls are a dime a dozen. Interesting pretty girls will cost you a bit more.

Sure, I can wax lyrical and write volumes of the benefits and my personal views of women in my life (which eventually I shall). However, the crux of the matter is they will remain a constant. From mother to the sisters and cousins. From the best friend who is perpetually by my side and holds my heart to the simpleton beauty who only has a place in my phonebook and in my bed.

Obviously they hold value of varying degrees. But the most definite point of all is that they will forever hold value to me and they will forever be treasured.

I have this saying that I would rather hurt with the truth than live with a lie. Sounds deep and contemplative, huh? But if I take a step back and look, how willing am I to learn of a truth that I can’t handle or won’t face?

Yes, obviously I would want to know if someone (dare they) is making a fool of me. I would be hurt if it were someone I like or a person I care deeply for. However, this is much more than that. How willing (or ready) am I to be shown the complete, raw and unadulterated truth about someone? About myself? Surely ignorance is bliss if knowledge can rip you apart to your bare foundations. On the other hand, you cannot find any good from living a lie. Ay there’s the rub. Deceived bliss versus enlightened despair…

Apparently the truth has power to save. But what happens when the truth can kill you?