I am terrified at the thought of my heart opening, admitting to love.

I am so comfortable here, wriggled into soft pillows, wearing cotton, a cat purring lightly nearby. Why would I trade these for love?

My heart is closed, sealed, impervious. It is locked shut with an ornate scrolling lockplate. The key? Well, it’s not in reach. It beats of its own accord, acknowledging outsiders but withdrawn into its own distance in the same instant.

Music stirs me, but less than the written word & right now the turn of recent phrases has begun manifesting dandelions all over my manicured, empty green field.

It is only now I perceive this fear as fear. Only now am I awakening to the [im?]possibility of moving beyond.

Long ago I accepted myself as an unlovable singleton, demanding, impervious, unyielding. I lament the loss of common sense in relationship. How could anyone understand me &, better yet, why would I want them to? Why open this contented sanctuary of solitude to outside forces, to an untamed energy that would ally me with another? There is no reason save the fracturing revelation I need not be alone. I could heal my splintered heart. I needn’t continue to live the experience that no one can love me as my Truth.

I have stalked my boundaries staked with the architecture of distance. I have squirmed into impermeability as a queen settling upon a towering throne. To love would draw & quarter my tightest boundaries in a most wonderful way. I extracted ‘love’ from my life a long time back. The extraction was forceful enough to build its own force field which I only now begin to question, a chick pecking at the shell. Shutting down was so much simpler than exposure.

Why now is this carefully constructed subsidence erupting? I’ve laid a parking lot over my heart – come visit, stay within the lines, be ready to back out. You’ll need a permit & a sticker to stay, not to mention a reasoning invitation.

I’m quick to drop barriers with a winning smile, a funny joke. I spook at real interest & willfully do not recognize it. There is a penchant within for empty spaces where only now I’m realizing as holding nothing at all.

Is this unreasonable? Unnecessary? The weakest flaw might be my not loving myself, which now is changing.

I say ‘share my words, share my world’ but I can count on one hand the people who actually read this blog who are my friends. Certainly none among my tiny family read it. My heart is blathered all over these pages for the ones I want to get the message only they’re not looking.

I may as well put sand in my coffee each morning.

This admission is an invitation to myself. I want to ponder those who loved me & why they did so, back when it was unconditional, when “I love you no matter what” was the byline.

Any questions?