I’m always in love, aren’t I?
I’m always falling or fallen and pained because of it. There’s always someone. A person. Him. Occasionally Her.
For over half my life. Nearly every day of every year.
I am good at being in love, even if I am not good at being in a relationship.
But I am not in love now.
I haven’t been, not for a year. Give or take (and it usually is take).
I am infatuated with dead celebrities. Attracted to assholes who are terrible in bed. Curious about new people. But I am not in love.
That is okay, of course. I don’t always have to be in love. Sometimes I don’t even want to be in love.
But you can become accustomed to things that you don’t want or need. We do it all the time, even when we shouldn’t. Especially when we shouldn’t.
So when I realized that I wasn’t in love and that this is the longest stretch in my entire
adult life where I haven’t been in love, it gave me pause.
Still, it feels good. Somehow. I am not in love, but I know I will yet again fall in love. I can look forward to the good (and brace myself for the bad) of falling in love.
I am something of a fresh slate, ready to be written. Then crossed off and erased. Modified and corrected. Maybe it’ll even be a happy story for a time.
Either way, it’ll be fodder for this blog. For my writing.
I’m not in love now. That’s okay. I’ve got time.
It’ll happen sooner than we all think, anyway.