Do I love pessimistically? I guess, it’s one of those thoughts again. It’s one of those, “I know how this goes and how this ends so I’m afraid of starting”. It’s that thing that I thought I was unlearning, at least a couple years ago. To love is to hurt, and I know it’s worth it but I’m still flinching. I close my eyes and reflexively clench when all I want is to wrap my arms around you. I regard our situation and it’s like I’m looking through what we have right now to what I’ve had before. Or my eyes are just, glazed over with memories.. maybe. I’ve been so, retentive, so desperately retentive, maybe I’ve been clinging to memories like I have my distractions. That, makes some sense, I suppose. I’ve openly and continually admitted my memories are what make life enjoyable to live. I’ve regarded reminiscing as such a pleasant and wonderful passing of time so long as I have peace with my past but. Everything’s on a spectrum. There is such a thing as too much reminiscing, and unfortunately I think I may be trending towards it. I’ve got my head buried so far in my memories it’s hard to enjoy what’s going on around me now. Like everything is some deja-vu of pain and love and loss that actually absorbing what’s happening right now is like trying to focus on grabbing your hand through the ghost of every person whose ever held mine. But see, the thing is is that I’m already holding yours. My fingers are interlocked with you and our shoulders are bumping and I’m seeing every day how wonderful it is to be here, walking with you. Gods maybe that’s what it is, there’s so many good parts of this that intermingle from so many good portions of my life it just has so many good memories and painful memories attached. For every person that’s loved me someone has also fallen out of love with me. But that’s such a reduction, because there was this massive hunk of time before people loved me in which I was ok. And there have been these massive hunks of time in which I have been Loved in which I’ve been excellent. And then there have been continually evolving chunks of time afterwards, in which I feel pain, and longing, and reminiscing, and then you simply keep evolving till you die. I’m not my pain. I used to think I was, but i’m not anymore. I currently am my memories, but maybe eventually that won’t be the case either.
