Last Tuesday at the Warrior vs. Hornets game, they acknowledged their season ticket holders of the night. I Feel Good by James Brown played as a couple who seemed to be in their fifties started giggin. They were adorable. And I decided that if and when I get married, one of the first things me and my husband are gonna do is buy season tickets to a sporting event – for life. ‘Cuz I want to be that cute, old couple decked out in black and orange for the next fafillion years.
*slaps myself with a handful of glitter*
I dunno what it is. Maybe the weather or just something in the air, but I’ve been feeling like this a lot lately. “This” meaning hopelessly romantic. Then, I feel ashamed for feeling hopelessly romantic. Then, I feel ashamed that I feel ashamed for feeling hopelessly romantic.
Because somewhere between rehabilitating myself from last years depression and now, I told myself it was wrong to feel vulnerable. Correction, wrong to show ones vulnerability. And I think that sucks. ‘Cuz I am no hard rock. I am a gem. Not without flaws, but precious nevertheless. Right now though, the hurt and betrayal from past relationships has turned me into a dull, black diamond. And really, what’s the difference between that and a lump of coal?
I guess my problem is, I don’t half-ass NOTHING. Love is no exception – except it needs to be. I need to find a healthy medium between being an ice-box and igniting a flame so hot I spontaneously combust. ‘Cuz regardless of which extreme, “I go hard, baby. And then I crash and burn.” And I’m tired of being the test-dummy. So. So. Tired.
The other day I cringed when my boy D said I wear my heart on my sleeve. I disagree. Don’t get me wrong, I’m just as emotional and fucking loca as the next chick (if not more) but I try my hardest not to let the dude who I’m emotional and loca over know. But maybe if I didn’t try so hard to fight it, it wouldn’t hurt so much when I lose. Maybe if I just swam with the current, I wouldn’t drown so easily.
I’d like to think my heart is right where it should be … under the “S” on my chest. But in the event D’s right, I’m buying some bullet-proof arm warmers.
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