She was beautiful

Since posting the last bit about the girl, I have felt better and slept better than I have in a long time. Then again, I think that was because I was emotionally drained. In truth, in awakening  the next day I realized that I had revived what I pushed into hibernation:  a heart frozen by extended winter, and at the thaw, bringing with it the melting drip of tears.

New growth has arrived and most verdurous, such that the overgrowth has begun to choke the native plants. I found the answer in my writing — while writing nonetheless —, but it was the answer that I didn’t want to hear, to accept. Still, I hesitate.

What is more terrifying than listening to your heart? It leads us to roads untraveled, to roads unpaved, to roads that will close up behind us and find us without egress. More, it is a road hostile and dangerous and vulture-ridden. That is, however, what we are often called to by our hearts, isn’t it? To lay down ourselves, what we hold important, and all the foolish things with which we try to clutter our own path so we can point them out as obstacles, excuses, to pardon our cowardice.

No, there is no optimism for the situation, and rationally I should just walk away again. But love — not the romantic sort mind you as this girl is well beyond any such interest now — is not rational, cannot be rational. Rationally, I would have given up after trying and being snubbed.

Why can’t I just keep walking like when I walked away in January though? Why can’t I be the stereotypical man and not care about others who have hurt me? Why have I spent the better part of a year concerned about someone who I doubt very much has lavished a single moment of thought on me?

Hah. Here I am writing all these brave words and yet all the while my mind is trying to come up with plans to delay or deny any action. A coward to the core. Justification, and logical at that, is easy enough to come by, but she matters more than logic to me, and that is perhaps the most logical argument I can make to myself as to why I must do something. While my mind may recoil at the rains, my heart heeds my call to flame if given the reason of love.

There is something apropos in my choosing to title both of these posts with a verse from Les Miserables. But there is no more time for  doting on such things. Alea iacta est.


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