lessons, tests, and growth spurts oh my. learning to be the king of swords. logical. reasonable. seeing the bigger picture. eagle vision. snow capped mountains. self worth volume turned way up. that’s the thing. with romantic love. patterns of the mind tell me i am not good enough, see myself as unworthy. showing up in various costumes, various hooligans reminding me that i am only good for this or that. a fill in, a nurturer, a ship passing through a lonely night. the virgin whore complex can show up in different costumes too. the side chic and the wife. the in the meantime and the prize. you generally fall to one side. those illusory train tracks. the poor and rich. have and have not. the way this culture divides in every way and on every occasion it can. all delusion. all constructs of a conditioned mind. i see it clear, yet for the heart to digest such clarity is much scarier. i get why we uphold our delusions at any cost. it’s hard to feel rejection, pain, and loss. but i am feeling it. transparency. unafraid to admit weakness. bold with fiery truth. that line from lana del rey, “if i get a little prettier can i be your baby? you tell me life isn’t that hard.” mirrors. mistakes. i wonder sometimes, what is real. i can’t even tell. i am unsure who to love and who to have love me, romantically. i honestly feel so vulnerable and lost in this area. i mean, i know what i want and what a healthy partnership should look like, zoomed out. but when it comes to attraction and falling in love, i don’t know if my wounds are still making me want the wrong man, or if i can actually trust my attractions. i know the psyche is a trickster. mine is a very competent trickster indeed. i admit this and come clean. i don’t know whose good for me. that’s a kate bush line. here i am, obliterating my pedestals. always been so mad at how guys seek bitches, withholders, and women on looks…but what if i am doing the same? pain attracts denial, that’s the real name of the game. i end this game. no more denial. i see my wounds for what they truly are. a girl born into a metaphorical brothel. les miserables’ eponine. to name a few. gonna hold her tightly in my embrace and kiss her face like a proper mamma. gonna send her out into the world nicely dressed, like a good papa. just keep on keeping on. wanting to drown in music to release this sorrow into a song. i know the right man will love me and i will love him too. we will figure it out. complexity is allowed. not everybody has simple hearts and minds. it’s ok. i create an open passage way. it’s ok if there’s rocks and undertow. this underworld enjoys putting on a grand show. somebody will appreciate this. and i will appreciate his fucked-upness. there will be mutual shadow understandings. talking about everything, all the feelings, all the wounds, till we turn blue and red and all the colors pour out of us and leave the old patterns for dead. sublime transfiguration. chin up and heart watering the earth with tears. another blue sky summer day. wishing for autumn. sweaters. soup. long hours at the computer writing. getting lost in the story. and this too shall pass….