Fear. Acer. Him.

I will start by venting. On God. I got up this morning feeling all inspired and ready to write about three pieces today. So I log in and type away. Then some criminally-stupid error happened to the page and poof! went my deep and witty blog post. Man did I swear. After months of totally zilch inspiration, which is the most essential part of writing, the dwanzie of a computer eats up the first thing I put down. All swear words and curses to the silly computer fairy who was sleeping on duty. Msssscccchhhheeewww.

Unfocused Just.

Hours later, after I have gone over every possible way to re-acquire my handiwork, I have moved on. Life is short. Abusing this Acer gadget will not help. Let me put what's left of my inspiration to good use. New posting. Arise fairy. We've got knowledge to impart. Wisdom to share. Fears to confess.And you need to keep any form of article-eating, mind-flaming and talent-disrespecting bugs out of my way. Here goes;

Passion is underrated. Fear is the enemy. The enemy who knows all your deepest, darkest doubts, misgivings and character patterns and will not be shy about using them against you. The shrinks insist that that giving attention to fear is the surest way to have it wreck havoc in your life. But we do not give attention to fear. Fear pays us the attention. Fear clings to your heart and invades your mind and clutches your soul. Fear is not scared of us. Because fear has been around longer than any of us has. So it has the experience necessary to pin you down. Fair and square.

I have been engrossed in a battle with this enemy. Who seems to think that dragging images and replays from my memory bank will cause me to scare and like I always do, run. The fear is right. At least the tactic is. My memory bank is filled with scenes I wish I could erase. With faded but clearly-there reminders of past pains, past aches, past losses. The memories which are mine are being used against me. To eventually create more painful memories right after I give in and create a huge, dirty mess. Isn't life ironic?

Isn't fear devious?

How does one ever totally wipe away those stains to the mind? How does one let the past fully go so they can enjoy the now with no qualms about the past being repeated and causing the same past pains, with the same spirit-crushing results? Because I would like to go on. With life. With him.

But he scares me. He always did. Flame-hot passion doesn't exactly help matters. Especially since this is first-time-flame-hot-passion. Oh, there has been passion. The sort that warmed me.

This is burning me. And I am begging to be scorched.

Fire, follow me...???

There are things you do not believe in until you have seen them yourself. That I just might have found my human kryptonite is one of those things. I do not believe in kryptonites. I do not hold with the belief that one can have a great weakness for another human being. I do not understand being weak for another person. And I am not weak for this person. I am not being kryptonited, please. I am simply caught up in an intensity that has this rare but enduring ability to get deeper. I am running in a circle that for two years (albeit at intervals), has refused to come to an end. I am the girl who is being forced to question everything I ever stood for and believed in. Because what I believe in is simply that-beliefs. What I am in is words and everything else. Action. Feelings. Blood rushes. Everything deep and scary.

Pain is pleasure. And passion is pain. My body and heart have minds of their own. And I am no competition. That's a lie. I do not want to fight them.

There is something to be said about not being able to last an hour without touching someone and of the man who will not last an hour without turning to look at you. 

It is meaningless but somewhat deep things like these that are giving rise to the cold demons of fear within me. I do not like to be this way with another person. Yes, I wish for it. I pray for intensity and depth and friendship and that searing passion. I know I would not be in any thing that is without passion and intimacy. I pray for all these things and when they do show, I am like the dog that chases the car but doesn't know what to do when the car does stop. 

Because when you are this way with another person, you are vulnerable. Vulnerable and me don't make good friends. I prefer to have my head screwed on right at all times. But he makes my mind run away. And honestly, I don't exactly miss it.

Until it strikes.

Fear of the past repeating itself. Fear of the future that is unknown. Fear that if this the real deal, the battle is just beginning. Hell will break loose and commitments will be put to test.

I fear that because we have somehow failed to grasp the-let-us-leave-one-another-alone-and-actually-move-on part of this entire thing, we are in line for shocks and surprises. 

I fear that because we will not let go, because even when I am tantrum-ming like a three year old and we are fighting like cats, you are there. You never really leave. Some of the things that you did in the past are begging to be revisited. In the name of experience being the best teacher. The stories of your past are little arrows that pierce me each time someone unknowingly speaks of you. The extent of your drama pushes the run alerts so hard, I have to stop myself from picking the phone and cutting you completely out of my life.

Heaven doesn't seem to be in any hurry to help me. And I am only human. I am a girl who has come face to face with the stuff real life is made of. 

I am the girl who doesn't understand how pleasure and pain can go together. Because I am the girl who always had it figured out. Now I am the girl searching for answers. In not-so-clever-places.

His eyes for instance do not hold written-in-stone-answers.