At a quarter to midnight I doubt what I aim to express will hold any weight but I can’t help but feed the beast that urges me to write something. Meaningful or not, it has been ages since I’ve put pen to paper or rather keystrokes to a screen.
As I sit on my bed, the safest place in my life, I feel some sort of spiritual experience beyond my own mortal comprehension. From what I gather, I’ve become a lost individual, putting all my ships and stones into fleeting relations that lead to mutual heartache.
The frequency that I react to emotionally tips the scales. When I am happy, my elation is overwhelming. When I am feeling sad, it is once again overwhelming. The passions I live my life by have caused me to loose lovers, friends, and potential comrades.
The hypothesis? Based on my emotional investments, I am incapable of retaining a healthy relationship in any capacity.
To say: If you can’t handle me at my worst, you don’t deserve me at my best…is an understatement in my confused modern life. End scene.
Sometimes it does work. Sometimes, a lot of the time, we build lasting friendships that see us through the most difficult moments of our lives, and that fill our days with good, good stuff. Sometimes we create lasting monogamous and polyamorous romances. Sometimes, we learn how to really love ourselves, how to extend ourselves for the purpose of our own spiritual growth. We do all of this while carrying the nearly incalculable weight of oppression, while resisting racism and heterosexism and transphobia and xenophobia and colonialism. In the face of all of these things, any one of which by itself should be enough to shut us down, we find ways to love each other more and better. Which really, when you think about it, makes us great at love.
It makes us superstars of love."