On the road, every week feels like a month- a rebirth every seven days, and I slip in and out of love so effortlessly it takes my breath away.
The connections we form, born out of reckless vulnerability, naive optimism, and shameless late-night flirting under the blood moon, are as fiery as they are new, and then just like that- with the same intensity that they began,
And I’m on the next bus, to the next place; taking the next trip, to the next love.
Suddenly, abruptly, my hair a mess- coiled tightly on top of my head, a breezy afternoon car ride, your kind eyes and warm embrace, a passionate kiss at 2am against a muraled wall, become only memories- comforting thoughts to be recalled of dreamily, in hushed tones, with a smile. Forever unsure what could have come of this connection had I stayed.
But I never stay.
Each young romance leaves me feeling lighter, infatuated, and high off of the rush; sick with love, hungover, and craving for more.
We promise to meet again one day, but know that we won’t- understand that it’s better if we don’t. Better if we leave this delicate romance untouched, unmarked, encapsulated perfectly in time.
The memories of our brief affair become merely a soft spot for our hearts to land when the realities of life are too harsh, forming a warm blanket to cradle our fears and offer our hurt some rest.
For months afterwards, the recollection of these pretty little romances flicker in and out of my mind like a black and white movie- beautiful, tender, timeless, yet easily traded in for the next new thing.
I am fed new love every day. Some of it sweet, some a little sour, a little salty, slightly bitter, but each one equally delicious. I am neither hungry nor nourished, but I am satisfied. Life goes on.
And then every once and a while, without warning,
there it is…
a rare love.
A special love.
My mouth salivates. I am no longer starving.
These are the romances I recall of years after they’ve ended- nostalgically, longingly, in full colour HD; fully engrossed in the short-lived romance we once had.
Yearning for what once was; what could have been. Begging for more.
Cursing at the oceans that seperate us.
Resenting the moon I so easily fell into another mans spell under, knowing the lovers I yearn for are looking up at the same moon; knowing that the man with kind eyes in front of me can never make me feel the way that they once did,
but hoping that they can.
Thinking back upon these connections makes my heart ache in a way I can’t describe. Full of immense joy for the moments we had, but longing to know what could have been had we both stayed.
Why didn’t we stay?
…why do I never stay?
I ask myself a question I already know the answer to…
my need for freedom far outweighs any desire I have for romance, and that is a truth that will always be. Without freedom I would starve, crumble, wilt- I could never survive.
The nourishment I need to thrive comes from new experiences, new country’s, new language’s- the unknown, the rush. Adventure provides the calories I need to sustain my breath in a way that no lover ever could.
Some days I wonder if I am an addict- always chasing the next best thing. High off the sugar rush and quickly crashing down; craving more. Knowing deep in my heart that this can’t be all there is.
Lusting for someone who can run just as far, just as fast, just as furious as I can and not loose their breath, but gain more; become fuller. Someone who can not only keep up, but push me further, pull me deeper, take me higher.
Chasing a high I’m not sure even exists.
Craving a feeling I have never felt, but know that I am capable of.
A love that I am worthy of.
I am wise enough not hold my breath waiting for the unknown- life is too beautiful a thing to miss out on chasing something I’ve never seen.
Besides, my cup is already overflowing.
Life is already happening, every day, right in front of me. The beauty, the pain- it’s all love. Love surrounds me.
Love is swirling around me like a whirlpool, crashing my body into it’s shore, pulling me out, then back again, then out once more. The same water that draws me into it’s currents also flows through my veins- we are one.
I am built of love. A small piece of an infinite puzzle- white hot. Too beautiful to look at directly; an energy connecting us all.
Romance may come and go, but the well of love remains deep inside of me, an endless reserve rooted deep within my soul. Bursting.
I am the source of all of the love in my own world.
Giver and receiver.
The lover is me.