The first time, you’re scared. So you keep quiet, don’t tell a single cell what has happened to you. It’s only your nightmare to replay in your head over and over. Then time washes over your secret and heals it, just enough to get on with your life, to put your head up and feel the radiant sun beat upon your milky skin. Just enough to make you smile. Barely enough to make you forget and realize the scar that has been left on you.
The second time, you’re still scared. But much less than embarrassed. You are incredibly embarrassed because you are once again in this stupid scenario. Crippled in shame, you are just confused how to go about this. You would expect time to heal, hoping that the recovery will be speedier because you have been through it already and the scar to appear minimal as well. This time you tell people the less offensive details of the subject, they try to console, but it makes you feel not better, but numb. Numb. Your fingertips, your lips, your chest, your toes, your head, your soul. The only thing racing is your heart because it is afraid, of you.
There is nothing more tiring and worrisome than the feeling of emptiness. That kind of emptiness, not an empty stomach, or an empty house, or an empty bank account, an insatiable emptiness in feeling, in your soul. When you feel that kind of emptiness, you add filler to stuff the space hoping it will let you feel content, but it’s only filler. It keeps you content for so long, until you need more. And more. And more. Cheap thrills, booze, false quick companionship, meaningless dialogue, just to keep you busy and full for that moment. Then the night turns into day and you’ve gained nothing and you’re still empty. Running on empty, that lights been lit on the dashboard for so long. It’s scary how little miles are left until you will stop, stranded, shut down. And the next filler is nowhere in sight.
“Lo duca e io per quel cammino ascoso
intrammo a ritornar nel chiaro mondo;
e sanza cura aver d’alcun riposo,
salimmo su, el primo e io secondo,
tanto ch’i’ vidi de le cose belle
che porta ‘l ciel, per un pertugio tondo.
E quindi uscimmo a riveder le stelle.”
“My guide and I came on that hidden road
to make our way back into the bright world;
and with no care for any rest, we climbed
he first, I following until I saw,
through a round opening, some of those things
of beauty Heaven bears. It was from there
that we emerged, to see once more the stars.”
Dante, Inferno, Canto XXIV
Tell me how cruel is it to like someone because he simply resembles your previous love. Is any of this puppy love real? Am I leading this poor guy onto something I’ll wake up in the morning regretting to?
I’m actually scared for once.
