Two Sizes Too Small

Some nights I'm not sure I have a heart anymore. It's been broken so many times, mended with whatever I could find to hand (and though that was a lot, it was never right) that a lot of that part of me's just gone numb. My friends are scattered to the four winds (those four winds being physical location, busyness/attention, divergent growth, and personal crises). We're all wrapped up in our own lives, and I'm too far into my shell to be casually intimate.

I knew this would happen. I looked forward and saw it: one day my life would be too full of history and too rich in present detail, I would be too complicated, for anyone to share it particularly fully. Now here I am. There's too much history for anyone to share and understand: any little comment, my ex this or my garden that, each one is a tiny little signifier of a wealth of subterranean memory and meaning and experience that it would take years to unearth.

I don't know what to do with me. I've made my life into a machine: my work and hobbies drive me, they motivate me, I adore my boyfriend and all of these things truly do inspire me and make me passionate and push me forward. Why, then, am I so lonely?

Because I am _so_ lonely. And when I reach inside myself to feel what's there, no warmth rises up to meet me. Excitement, happiness, yes, all those things are there-- but the heart is cold.

Inspiration.

So it was because Kynnin showed up in quiver on okcupid. And Marvin is on the internet but far away, and he loves me-- that's what triggered the whole thing. Such different worlds of distance.

...and oh, such distance. Such distance. I have never been further from anyone than I have been from Kynnin, except maybe my dad.

It makes me wonder about love, and zen breakups, and everything along those lines really. What do we mean by love if we tell someone we love them and we feel... something ....but are not willing to do anything for them, to do anything about it, to let it influence our actions in any way? We need more words in our language: tenderness, desire, kinship, cameraderie, protectiveness, nostalgia. We need to use these words instead of love when they are what we mean instead of love. We need to recognise them in ourselves and not take the lazy blanket-word way out.

And I need to fucking get over Kynnin already, whatever that means. Just... I don't want to cry because of him ever again. Bits of golden nostalgia, bits of pissiness, sure. No more tears though.

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