Loneliness, part I

I've begun to revert to a childish impression of love. As a young man I was told again and again that my ideal was unrealistic, that my expectations were unreasonable, and that I was afraid of intimacy. The last one was certainly true, but I've since discovered that it wasn't intimacy which could address that fear, which really is a matter of self acceptance, although I tried, Lord knows I tried.

That love was a challenge I accepted. I knew that we were all learning so much about ourselves, as much through our failures as our successes, which in either case were more like waypoints than destinations. And with each new relationship I looked forward to building on the work of the past, coming closer and closer to a place of stability, maturity, and selflessness that could really, and I mean like anchors to earth or roots in the sky, provide the stage for the kind of loving that I dreamed about.

And then I got burned much worse than ever before, although thankfully it wasn't the burn that comes from unrequited love. I had placed my heart into the hands of someone who didn't have the least clue what to do with it. Who wasn't, despite intentions to the contrary, really prepared to learn, and who, ultimately, didn't even want the same things I wanted.

A fine story really, and one that I wasted many bitter hours blaming on her ineptitude. But really, what I saw and didn't want to confront, the extent to which I had so efficiently deluded myself, brought home my capacity for self-deception in the name of romance. It's strange to know how thoroughly we can beguile our best intentions. The quiet implication is one of internal maneuvering between polities we never imagined, our hidden desires, our shadow.

I have become well acquainted with the dark side of being a Pisces.