or, part of a line of a cheesy fucksuck song I heard somewhere maybe
*I’ve been trying to get away from assigning ‘dark’ and ‘black’ as descriptors of things that are scary/awful, so that song sucks for that reason, too. PSA.
Pain is easy. It’s hard to guess at our ability to handle it beforehand and the lack of adequate preparation for it makes the entire ordeal terrifying. Folks that tell me they aren’t afraid of pain get added to my list of things that are either terrifying or wrong. Pain is an easy answer to fear.
My stealthiest fear is love. I love to love. I do it without thinking, without realizing it’s happening, without knowing how much of myself is invested in the vibrant, throbbing, creature that is my care. I love in ways that don’t measure or weigh to me, and thus I wander my halls with saddlebags of others that I haven’t even realized I’ve packed.
I love until my vulnerability feels like familiarity and my need feels like sunshine and rain. I love when I can’t hate another drop and I love when there isn’t anything left in my life to embrace.
I can’t stop.
And I fear it, the way it is hungry and the way it is sated. I fear its quiet insistence and I fear its heartbroken relinquish of whatever I held dear. I fear I will never be easy with its casual upheaval of my entire soul; I fear that one day I will be easy with such upheaval, and then what will I have?
I fear that love will lead me down a path I can’t unwalk, to a dead end I can’t climb over. I fear that love will make me care in ways I cannot live up to, that it will reach too far and leave me grasping at air and branches as I fall to mossy apathy.
I tuck that fear in my dustiest heart-space, I shutter it away, because that fear makes me breathe air like it’s my last; it grabs my lungs and shakes them till my heart agrees. I protect that fear because the vitality that triggers it makes me live hard and yearn harder and always, always, reach, and if I ever stopped
then pain would be all that’s left
And pain is easy.
I want my life difficult. I want my life fearful and tumultuous and textured.
So I huddle over that fear like the precious fetus of untried wonder it is, and I love.