Falling in love is fun. It’s a rush, like jumping into a swimming pool. You feel helplessly weightless in the air and, for split second, a fleeting moment of terror (but good terror, like bungee-jumping terror, not like ax-murderer terror) and you hit the water—what a shock it is!—and you feel the rush of air and water bubbling and tickling up your body. And for a minute you think you might just crack in two because, really is it even possible to feel this happy?
But getting your heart broken hurts. Like a sledgehammer to the gut. It’s not all that fun.
But in the end, isn’t it better to love anyway? Because the swimming pool part was quite nice. And now you know to avoid people with sledgehammers.
But getting your heart broken hurts. Like a sledgehammer to the gut. It’s not all that fun.
But in the end, isn’t it better to love anyway? Because the swimming pool part was quite nice. And now you know to avoid people with sledgehammers.
Yes, I think it’s always better to love than to not.
3 comments:
is there a reason for this post???
Uhh, yeah, but I'm probably not going to talk about it here. I just needed to get this out of my system.
Tomorrow's post will be chock-full of levity. Promise!
Jumping in the pool is pretty easy when your last dive went ok.
It's a little harder when the last dive resulted in a belly flop... ;-)
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