I just got done throwing a week long temper tantrum. And then I had a moment. I mean, an honest-to-God, step outside of yourself and view what you're actually doing flash bulb moment. Spectacular. After maniacally writing something via text to a new guy, along the lines of "I will crush your heart along with your hopes and dreams", I, er, reluctantly came to the verdict that I was being slightly irrational. Granted, it was the morning after that I rediscovered my actions. And...I had already updated my Facebook status the previous evening after said text about wallowing in the ashes of his charred soul or some such nonsense...but nonetheless. I did find myself choking on my words, and the straightforward comedy of the situation.
I don't know when I became so abrasive, but I'm ready to douse this spitfire attitude with a bucket of cold hard rationalization.
Like I just said, besides the fact that I realize I'm being completely unreasonable lately, I've come to several other conclusions regarding my heart. I may act powerful and boast about my abilities to make men bow to my will, but inside this tough as nails exterior, is a meek soul that's feeling a little more than just bruised. And I can't blame those injuries on other people alone. I have the feeling, Watson, that if we examined the specimen, we'd find that I would be the main culprit. I am a heart beater. So sue me.
I suppose it's not been in my best interest as of late to be handing out pieces of my heart like they're brownie samples at Costco. I fully believe in love, and it's incredible power, but only recently have I learned the danger of not only handing your heart out upon request, but more so, at your own will.
I've found that by handing out pieces to just any pretty face, I've lost my ability to discern. What has followed is a flood of reactions: some have held their piece gingerly, cradled it and coddled it like a newborn, only to find the responsibility too great and run off in the night, or hand my heart piece back in chagrin. Others have thrown it over their shoulder and never looked back. A few placed it in their wallet until they have needed to call upon it as a form of manipulation, squeezing it and grinding it until I feel my inner core on the brink of collapse.
Some, well…the crazy ones have…don't, put, that…in your. Mouth. Shit. They have completely swallowed it whole and spit it back in my face. I feel like I am left harboring the seedling of a heart that remains with carefully gloved hands.
I fear the most, that if it is not planted and allowed to take root in the right place it will become…less than a heart.
As much as I would like to have my heart incased in lead and dropped into the middle of the ocean, I understand that this is not feasible. I want to guard my heart as the most delicate treasure I own without hiding it under a bushel. In my steadfast stubbornness, I know that this is possible. It's going to take a lot of practice, tongue biting and cheap whiskey, but I believe in myself more so than I believe in anyone else and I am capable of greater heights.
I am not the object of my past regrets. I am so much more. Insert self-fulfilling mantra here.
Someday my prince will come. He may or may not have an impeccable taste in music, make a mean chicken alfredo, write songs about me and my glorious hair, and have a slew of tastefully placed tattoos. He may drive a motorcycle, he may ride a bike or arrive on a plane or bag apples for a living. He may be tall or short or just my height with blue or green or hazel eyes and a crooked smile.
Regardless, he will be the only key to my heart when it has healed and is truly ready for that sort of lovin'.
