Letting my tears…

Fall where they may.


Let my tears cleans this rose-colored film off my eyeballs…so I might see the forest for the trees once again.

Let the past go.

Letting the present “be what it be”.

Let the future unfold gracefully…no pressure.

Letting another tragically-morbidly romantic affair with a man I will always love (from a safe distance henceforth) shoot from the sky like a falling star; burning out way before its potential to shine the brightest of the bright.

As if I could “let” any of this happen…as if I had some semblance of control.  It is all an illusion…the idea of “control” IS the illusion.

I have no control.  In fact, that lack of control contributes to my eyes swelling with the death of a love…again.

What is more insane:

Me, believing a man who says he loves me and has thoughts of a family with me


him, saying those things, and then acting oppositely

True, I agree with him that I need to practice detachment to outcomes…however, those are mighty strong instructions coming from a man who is attached to controlling the heart strings of a woman he says he loves by toggling back and forth from “I love you” to statements too hateful to reiterate.

Pain signifies, in this case in particular: Change is needed and/or change is occurring.

I am no stranger to moving on. I am no stranger to things not happening the way I thought or wanted them too.

I am no stranger to a broken heart.

It never gets easier, but it doesn’t really get worse either…heart break is always that same dull lingering physical manifestation of loss. That feeling that “hurts so good” and yet, you can’t wait for it to be over at the same time.


Love and cupid: morbid.

In my detachment I still feel and think.

And my feelings and thoughts are jumbled up right now.

It is cool. There are 7 Billion people on this planet…I guess this frees me up to get to know more people.

Ah, who am I kidding.

Detachment and the Uncomfortable Change that accompanies a heartbreak: no fun.

Detachment and the ability to move on when the possibility of love still lingers like a mirage, or a dangled rabbit at the dog races: brutal…
Damn near impossible even. But hey, we all have to confront things that are uncomfortable and totally suck.

Part of growing up? I guess.

Is moving on possible?
I am working on that right now.
Because I wont wait for conditional love anymore.

And I know there are other gentlemen out there that want to call on me, flow me positive energy and comments without the self-destructive dramatizations, and provide for and protect me…I know this because:
I have met several of them.

It is amazing what opportunities I am capable of passing up when I feel an attachment and a loyalty to someone who demonstrates no such gorilla-glue attachment and loyalty to me in return. Totally wild dude.

The crazy shit we talk ourselves into (and/or out of) when love is a part of the equation.


(I wrote this a week or two ago…finally had the balls to actually publish it)


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