Everything takes time to heal, a sprain a few days, a muscle pull a week, a broken bone, few weeks, but the damned broken heart takes too long. How long will I hide behind the farce of a phobia when I always fall head first into love and then figure out the repercussions. The good part of being in love with an idea of a person is that you get those snatches happiness, that you don’t rationalise, that you don’t submit to reason, those crazy moments of pure bliss. When you know you had a good time. The sorry kind of love I preach is one in which I have no expectations from the other person to meet my expectations yet I’ll have some and eagerly wait for them to be met. Every nice gesture becomes memorable, do I get lead on.... yes alot but not with my eyes closed, oh no, I get played very well knowing I am getting played and thinking that I am too smart to get burned and then I crash and burn and ache all over.
This heartache that clouds my mind, holds firm grip on my emotions that keeps me perpetually on sad standby, I want it gone. Time is the healer of all wounds but for the first time I want to rebound from a no relationship, get into a relationship because I want to get over this guy. But who am I kidding, I am no stud, I’ll never be able to that, chances are I’ll fall in love with the bugger of a rebound and be writing woefully about him next.
God, wherever you are.... zandu balm for the heart is required.
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