I keep repeating that to myself, over and over and over again. Yet there is always that one moment that you choose not to do it. And make bad, nasty decisions. Or think of making them anyway. The weakness of the soul, of the body, of everything in between. The need to feel somewhat loved. And the search for it in all the wrong places.
The story of my life, really. It's not entirely their fault that all guys who show up are already involved with someone or unwilling to take it any further. Sometimes I feel as if I unconsciously look for that kind of guys. Fear of commitment maybe? I wouldn't know - I don't think I have it, but maybe deep inside?
A guy I met last year told me that it was hard to know if I liked him or not because I wasn't giving him any signs. What if my problem is that I don't know how to show a guy that I like him?
Love is a mystery to me. I thought I had fallen in love but now I'm sure it wasn't it real. Not the kind of love I imagine I should have felt. Damn the movies. Maybe so many years of watching these perfect love stories on film really ruined us. Why settle for average love when the other kind exists? Which leads me to another question... does it exist?
I choose to believe that it does, and that it's so elusive and distant and hard to get because it's worth it. Because it's fragile and must be handled with care. Because it must be appreciated and cherished and, why not, treasured. I chose to believe that real love exists because if it doesn't... then... the world would be a very sad and empty place.
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