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The Middle of Summer

I stopped writing.  It has been a long time.  I feel rusty.  I feel as if I have just emerged from a very long and tumultuous slumber: the tin man stretching his fingers, pierced lips begging for an oil can.

My reasons for writing are so selfish.  I just need to express my emotions, my turmoil as I try and work my way through my romantic relationships.  How does an Empath love?  When she can feel the undercurrents of doubt in another?  Women, in general, over-analyze.  “Stop over-thinking,” my girlfriends say as I lament my latest sorrows.  How do I separate an active mind from the passions and fears of my heart?  How does one become vulnerable to love when it has already come with so much pain in the past?  It feels impossible.

I feel the fleetingness of love.  And then there is the deep, burrowing love that I feel in people when they speak of their children.  It twists and turns far into their being.  It feels imprinted on the soul.  Is is wrong to want this in my partner?  Is this type of love built over time or is it realized across a crowded room when two eyes meet?

I currently like a man.  I am not in love with him.  He feels afraid to feel anything for me.  He has been hurt in the past.  His first layer is so thick.  Beneath that layer is sadness.  A flowing river of sadness.  Every time I pierce that first layer, he retreats.  He isolates himself.  When he does this retreat, I know what it is.  It makes me sad.  I feel rejected.  Part of me wants to give up.  Take the advice of others and see other other men.  Keep my options open.  Part of me wants to stay and work through this with him and hope for the best. Both cause fear and consternation.  I am not sure what to do…112592_a5614d42

 

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