We are the abusers and abused of our own selves. We beat our hearts against pillars of brick and pound our fists into the floor. I’ll never love again, I’ll never love again. The tune of our day dreams, the pattern of our nights. Never again, never again.
We swear that we have given all that’s poured inside of us and used up all that’s left to give. We’ve cried all the glitter less tears our eyes can produce and stumbled around in the loneliest of night. We swear it’s not worth breaking off a crumb of heart that’s left inside our soul to take a chance that may lead down the same broken path. I’m just fine on my own thank you, just fine.
But the problem with never loving again is that we always will. That time after time, batch after broken hearted batch we give into the chocolate morsels of the cookie. We give in to the sweet parts of the whole. And we love again, we love again.
Because someone, someone new, someone different wakes up the bear hibernating inside of us. They offer up a feast of things we’ve never experienced before and pull us out of our cave. They are the sunshine that comes with spring, the humidity of summer.
Do you know the kind of person I mean? The one that challenges your outlook and forces out your strength. Because this love thing? It’s no banana float and it’s doesn’t come topped with a cherry. This whole definition of love should consist of melting ice cream and soaked up sprinkles and toppings that never make it on the sundae. But for a split second we’re able to envision that banana float in front of us and we leap at the chance to love. And we roll in the puddles of mud to make our way there. Whispering all the way, “well make it, well make it.”