Limitations

Whoop dee doo. Another Valentine's Day has passed. There are people who agonise over what to get for their girlfriends, others who insist on maintaining their integrity by refusing to succumb to the overt commercialism of the occasion, some who mutter and gripe about unappreciative partners. And of course, there will always be those who gather in a pub on such an evening to whine about their lack of luck in the arena of love.

Somehow, I thought I would be more affected this past evening. I thought I would let the pain in my psyche overwhelm my senses again. Apparently I was wrong. If no one else cares, then why should I care?

Oh oh, turns out I'm wrong again. Catching sight of one particular thing has brought some of the hurt back. Not much though, not so much a wrenching pain, but a wistful longing for what was, what might have been. Ah, I know people will misinterpret this again, but I hardly give a damn. I know what the case was, what my desire was. What I wanted was a bond between persons. What I had was illusory. It really isn't all that dramatic. I don't get along very well with her anymore. That's all. I haven't changed, her needs have. Perfectly acceptable. I'll live with that.

I now have a clear idea of my limitations in the arena of romantic entanglement. See, I'm basically a pretty fucked-up fellow. Anyone who gets and stays too close to me will probably be pretty fucked-up by the experience. So if I should actually care for someone, I will keep her away from me. Now is that fucked-up or what?

Ok, had some to drink, having more to drink. I shall sign off here. Look forward to an all new instalment from my era of self-love.