Once upon a time, in a land far far away, a seed came to land in fertile ground. With the slow deliberation of the approaching dawn marking a murderer’s execution or the last snapping of the thread holding a mountaineer aloft, the little seedling burrowed into the soil and started to grow. Time passed, as it will, and soon the seedling sprouted green stems of life into the air, as if to reach the sun. It inevitably pursued its battle against gravity and soon grew to its perfect potential height. More time passed, as it will, and soft leaves unfurled from the now bristly brown-green stems and branches that were once but a seedling. These leaves spread like glistening nature and soon covered the whole plant. Still time passed, as it will, and the magnificence of the dew-fresh leaves was suddenly overshadowed by a singular spectacle: a sweet, sweet blossom bursting from a dozing bud. It unfurled like a whispered promise and revealed the heart of beauty in perfect, velvet petals, its soft vellum gruesomely, beautifully painted with crimson veins. Once upon a time, I came across this flower in bloom. I made to grab it, pick it, but in my blindness I saw not the thorns that bit deeply and brought blood, Still, I grasped my treasure and tore it from its life and held it firmly, for me, only me. Time passed, as it will, and my flower lost its cream and crimson. Its petals became brittle and flew to the air at wind’s slightest caress. Finally there came a time when only the thorns, still hooked deep, remained bitten into my flesh, nestled in my torn and bloody hand as like a babe at a mother’s breast.
I’ve been single almost exactly a year.
This is something of an achievement for me, I’d have you know. Usually I attach myself to the first likely-looking character and remain attached in a barnacle-esque fashion. But I’ve resisted. I’ve withstood the test of (lonely, oh so lonely) time. Do not misunderstand me, I’ve had a fair share of little liaisons to season an otherwise unsalted dish. But they were casual at best and disastrous at worst. And most importantly, they were strictly NON-emotional.
Enter one whom I will name Delilah. Not that I attempt some obtuse reference to the over-known Biblical tale and in so doing insinuate that she undoes me, but certainly she is the first to weaken my resolve so that I am currently contemplating a relationship. And that is a compliment, reader, despite what it may look like.
Enter fear. Fear of so many things. Let me explain…
As with my last relationship, this new prospect will be with a girl. As with the last relationship she is sporty, highly intelligent and beautiful. As with the last relationship she has a messed up family situation. And as with the last relationship we’ve skipped the introductory levels of any courting process and gone straight to “of course we can sleep naked next to each other!’. Do not pass go. Do not collect a solid foundation for a relationship.
And so, dear reader, I must inevitably ask myself whether I am merely repeating history. Whether I am doomed to fall for the same type of person again and again in a never-ending cycle of lust, obsession, horror and brutality. Or am I merely a piss-ass paranoid neurotic who needs to chill the fuck out and give it time to run its course? (Point of information: my mini Indian therapist opts for option B though she had enough tact not to state it so explicitly…)
I leave this inconsequential conundrum in your apathetic hands, anonymous reader.
La Labouche, signing off…