It was goofy of me to think that love was an all-saving, all-renewing miracle. But it makes sense why I regarded all of my lovers as demigods. Praised their hands, kissed their feet, and prayed to their hearts to find my/inner peace. But if gods are monsters and humans are its evil creation, it only makes sense that even in my blind obedience, love and it's aficionados still left me shipwrecked.
I thought all of the times I walked into walls were small learning lessons; the times I walked into traffic and left unscathed miracles. But more often than not, I was hit by a car and bruised in the head. More often than not I've been cursed out by drivers and driven through drywall. I've scraped more knees than there are petals to pick from. So why am I still here?
Because I can't seem to give up on looking for and learning to love. This last time left me stranded, dropped into the median on the autobahn. My heart knows neither how to be soft nor hard. My journey has been through fire, ice, stone, oceans, parasites, and what I thought was paradise until I found what I think to be a romantic and sexual reality I might have found peace living in.
"I'm sick," I told her.
"I know," she said back, quiet, firm, consistent, nurturing. She held me tighter and closer. I relaxed for the first time in my twenty years of life.
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