The other day, while fiddling around on the internet, I stumbled across my old Myspace page. Instantly, it felt surreal staring at the moment frozen in time and myself over four years ago, bringing up a mix of emotions. Part of me can’t help but wonder if I should delete the stupid thing, once and for all. After all, there is no going back to that point in time, and I would never want to. But there is something about the pictures, about the silly declarations of love that bring me back to a different time–a time when I believed in the boy next door, a time when I truly believed love conquered all and all the fairytales I read growing up.
The truth is while I’ve learned a lot about myself over the last year and love the person I finally feel I can be, I’ve also lost a huge chunk of who I was. That girl; the love-conquers-all romantic. It almost seems impossible now that I could ever let another person mean that much to me, or be that big of a part of my life. Friends, yes. And hell, there have even been those boys that mean so much to you in the moment, but quickly fade once the sun rises. But as far as romance or love–or even the possibly of a kiss that makes my knees weak–it hasn’t happened. And the truth is, more than anything, I’m the one holding myself back. It’s not like there haven’t been people who could mean something–I mean, I gushed about my secret crush–but there is a reason why it’s never been anything more than that: I’m scared of actually trying. I’m scared of making an attempt because what if I get hurt again. What if I let myself open up to someone, completely, and they promise me the world only to turn around and take everything back.
It just seems easier… holding back, and keeping your heart protected.
But I miss that feeling… of being love, of the excitement of getting to know someone. I look at that girl in those pictures, how in love and happy she is, and I don’t want to live the rest of my life without that. After all, you can only write so many stories about a broken heart before even your writers block is telling you to get the hell over it. And I want to move on, I do, I just… I’m so scared of what moving on will bring. Not to mention the fact I’m not even sure how this whole dating thing works. Tipsily flirting I’m the queen of, even the occasional drunken kiss… but when it comes to making a real connection I just freeze up out of fear. I wouldn’t even know where to start (or so says my perpetual single status.)
I know you have to start at the beginning, take the first steps without looking at what might be coming and not be so fucking scared of getting hurt. Now if it were only so easy to just say hello.