Anyone who has really been attached to someone, love or lust or otherwise has to identify with the insatiable feeling that accompanies strong desire. I’m talking about that desire that keeps you up at night and wreaks havoc on the rest of your life. I sometimes compare that novelty feeling of something ‘new’ when I was a teen, with the same feelings as I am now older. I like to see how it compares to a more matured mind state. Teen angsty love is still really fucking powerful. You would defy parents, you would lie, you would sell your soul or whatever to just get the extra few hours with that special someone. Well I did anyways. Nothing was more important. Nothing.
This raw (and usually hasty) emotion called desire still messes with me even as I am in my 40s. I’m not sure if it’s the fact that I have an incredible visual memory or the fact that I have a very strong imagination. I mean it’s great to feel young, and experience the ‘young love feeling’ over again, I would really never ask for it any other way. I just wonder sometimes if people who are extremely imaginative, and hold on to that imaging tightly are the ones that run through these emotions all the way through their lives. Most older people who I secretly try to analyze are merely just settling in that shell of “well this is ok, this will do for me as I really don’t care to try to find what I really want anymore”.
I could just have some sort of inverted idealism in my head that has programmed me to think that emotions like these are the only ones that are ‘real’. Since in actuality, every experience I have had with relationships that began with the igniting of those feelings like this have ultimately ended in failure. So basically every thing that I felt was “right” in the beginning, has in the end been “wrong”.
Or was it? Wrong in the sense that I wasn’t ready for it. Wrong in the sense that I had not come to terms with the commitment that was required to sustain a healthy relationship. Right in the sense that both of us still had emotional growing to nurture and cultivate. Right in the fact that these very volatile experiences were in actuality ‘trimming and grooming’ us to finally become emotionally available to be fully capable of receiving penetrating love from someone else one day. We can only hope. Hope for something like that anyways.
As I’ve stated numerous times in the past, there are no guarantees. With anything, especially in matters of the heart. Some of you will pick and choose your partners based on your own desperation, their social status, your biological clock, or even just the fear of being alone. I have never pre chosen anyone. It is that feeling that has always chosen me. And that, in no way I think in this lifetime is something that can be statistically ignored. More so something that I could never ignore within myself.
I hated the times when the evening tide would bring to me a ziplock bag full of sewing needles, and then tell me that I had to chew and swallow them down. But I’m actually more afraid of the possibility of one day waking up next to someone one morning in a well-developed and thought out ‘cookie cutter’ life and realize that in fact I did not really ‘know’ the person that I lay next to. And if I had not been awoken by my 5:30am alarm clock I would just as soon pray that a piano fell on my head.
So here finds the place of the wandering heart and mind. Maybe some people really are just never meant to be connected with another again. Maybe the spidering road just has no more signs on it to direct you towards that feeling. Perhaps you just sit and watch others ride by and wonder if they are walking side by side with desire or did they just dress it up to appear as that.
I honestly cannot convince myself to dress up anything more than what it actually is. I’ve made some horrible decisions in my past. I have acted the part of the kid when my role was to be the part of the man. I’ve shrouded myself as the victim before when I know I was also part of the problem. I’ve seen the stippling across my face as I grow even more tired of seeing things that I awkwardly walked away from. That I was foolish enough to forget that ‘desire’ could of remained right in front of me, had I fought just a little bit harder for it. Maybe fight just one more day.
And in the end now it all seems useless. That now I cannot accept anything less than what I already know. Which in turn is its own lesson in humility I suppose. All for that feeling of a desire and knowing that no matter how crappy or messy that the place was, no matter what was on the walls, the table, the radio or the TV – that the only thing that really mattered at once was the time. And how I remember seamlessly believing that time was something that always appeared to never be enough of.