DESPAIR…

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    This is the word of today.  It’s a longing… a hopeless longing for the unattainable.  It’s an unfulfilled ache in the heart.  It’s not knowing if I can be fixed.  Do I leave my heart open to be filled, or do I close it off with an emotional tourniquet.  Do I let it grow a callous, so that it can never feel this pain again?  Despair… it’s worse than heartbreak.  Heartbreak is final.  A broken heart can mend.  But, Despair is the result of hope… a hope for the possibility of love reborn.  It makes one… Desperate.  And I am desperate.  I HATE being desperate.  Desperation is not sexy.  Desperation is weak.  Desperation reeks of uncertainty and failure and insecurity.  I hate myself for being desperate for a love that may never return.  I hate this feeling of swimming in an ocean of love and not seeing the land of assurance.  I’m swimming, and paddling, and trying… desperately.  To make her fall back in love with me.  She’s thrown me the life line of her love.  Love like a best friend’s love.  Love like an old confidant.  And for now, it’s enough to keep me a float.  But, how long will she keep me in the desperate tides, watching me struggle and fight?  Will she jump back… in love with me?  In love with me like the white hot heat.  Like the passionate, I can’t live without you type of love.  Or, will she just cut me loose and let me drift away?  I seem to forget.  I, too, have a choice.  How long will I cling to the life line… desperately?  I feel like a child, desperate for her approval.  Afraid that at any misdeed, she’ll withhold her love from me.  I am afraid to think freely, or consider my own needs.

    She loves me… She loves me not.  The uncertainty leaves me in despair.

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