Dealing with the world, life, matters of the Heart, and its most precious resource, "Love"
Friday, March 20, 2009
A page from the book..."The Diary of a Nice Guy"
Never been a slave to ego but I now realize that when I'm in your company or when I'm composing some form of wireless connection (sent technologically your way), your non-attraction and non-excitement for my life stings hard like an army of pissed off bees. At the moment I am Toby "Yes sir-ing" to ego like it's my master and letting it boss me around like some grade school bully.
A lion by zodiac, but I'm not quite sure if I'm the king of this jungle or just a coward, cowardly traveling down that yellow brick road seeking a solution for my Heartache because I lack the courage to stop Loving you. An answer hunter with a thirst for figuring things out. I wish the Wiz were a real guru instead of some fairytale fraud faking foolish fortunes because I no longer trust the advice of my own wisdom. I envy he who now holds you closer than close; a place that once was mine...Or was it? A maverick I am, all for the fight to win you back. But am I fighting an old war that only I care about? Is the equipment upgrade way too late to boost the morale of a true trooper whose dedication to my life's cause (which at one point) was concrete? Being at peace with what's meant to be is not always easy to digest when the outcome is not what you dreamed it to be. The anger upsets gut feelings like third world food cooked the
opposite way of healthy.
"The hopeless romantic"...Is that just a sympathetic way of quickly stitching up the (many upon many) bad relationships with romance? Is the bleeding of emotion a self- inflicted pain? Is it bad when we make ourselves vulnerable by stripping down naked, exposing all our fears and doubts to an opportunist Lover who has no limits for taking? "Give me every thing you've got including the Heart you keep hidden in that chest on insecure lock." Taking all they can take, until there's nothing left but a bag full of regret and bitter complaints. Does the stain of lost Love on the palm of our brittle hands make us responsible too... Subpoenaing us to stand trial and testify on behalf of our involvement in the partaking of that infamous crime "killing our own happiness"? In order to supply our Heart's surplus with fundamental answers that would reassure our faith in feelings, one would have to: live this life; die; then, live life twice. Even then, there's no guarantee because Love is often moody...
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