Love hurts,
love scars,
love wounds
And mars, any heart
Not tough or strong enough
To take a lot of pain
–Nazareth/Love Hurts
I was thinking about some of the people I love yesterday, and wanted to write about them, or recognize them in some way. It would be a nice list. A warm, fuzzy list. Sort of like favorite songs or books. Or things I’m grateful for. Only way better, because, you know, LOVE.
But then the cold meds started to wear off, my brain got a little less scrambled, and I thought “are you fucking NUTS?!? This is a terrible idea!”
Why terrible? Well, I mean, duh. Let me count the ways. It really isn’t a good idea in any way at all, because you can’t count love. Some people don’t like seeing their names in print. Some people might feel bad if I wrote that I loved them and they didn’t reciprocate. Some people would be hurt if they were left off the list. I might feel like I have to include people I don’t really love for various reasons.
So the idea was, rightfully, scrapped.
Of course, that will leave me forever wondering if you would be more upset if you weren’t on my list?
Or if you were?
Would you disapprove of some of the other people on the list?
Yes, it is quite hard to be me. I think like this all the time. It’s not easy, and I am so glad someone noticed.
On an only marginally related note, my heart aches. Not because of love, but because coughing has squeezed it too much. It feels disconcertingly like a plain old-fashioned heartache. It makes me feel a little more breakable than I like to feel. Every time I cough, I feel lovesick.
I’m in the mentally and emotionally awkward position of having to convince my brain that my heart isn’t really broken. It just thinks it is.
Since it thinks its broken it’s making me feel like I am. Which, as we all know, sucks.
It’s really not the first time I’ve confused love and sickness.
Probably won’t be the last.