Blind Spots

SOMETIME AGO, I feel in love with a boy. And everything changed. Bystanders later confessed that since the very beginning, they sensed the crash landing, but I don't care. You see, "love" is blindness. And no it is not negative, it is simply a change of view, a different angle, full of a million little blind spots - and when I was in love, all those scary blind spots that were suppose to make me nervous and cautious but instead filled my mind with only one thing: The way his body pressed against mine, or the blades of his fingers caressing my face and neck felt. Simple. Unquestioned. And Beautiful. But the true side-effects of blind spots eventually caught up to me and wrapped themselves around my heart, clinging on for life. Then everything fell apart. My heart and I, we like to go with the classics: a) "it was meant to fall apart and burst into blames of heart break." or b) "It wasn't really 'love' so... we're good." Sometimes I cannot help but think a little differently - even when the other reasons, a+b, have already defeated by pathetic attempts at romantic idealism and ...."possibility."I used to like that word a lot, and now I wish it didn't exist. Maybe I just got tired of it's typical negativity or...constant...lack thereof, because I had at least wanted false promises, although that would have defeat the entire purpose of the word to begin with. When I was a child, I thought "true" love was the kind that never goes away, and sometimes makes a mistakes but always manages to fix them before it's too late. But as I got older I realized it has nothing to do with it's endurance; time. It's about the details. It's apparent that we have tried and failed and it was time to inhale deeply, unlock the door, and leave, off to the next big conquest, whatever we take that to mean. I will, however, admit that my tired little heart, will love that perpetually complex and intriguing idea of him. And the way my heart races when I hear his voice, wont slow down even a pace. Because things like these fade, but the absence of such things, does not. It's embedded in who we are. I just hope that sometimes, he misses me as much as I miss him.