Tonight, I do not understand.
Rather, I see, but I cannot for the life of me comprehend my body's reactions. I have been told that I'm a sensitive person, but usually by my family for losing rationality and, thus, "my cool", upon being teased, joshed, messed with, and generally disoriented.
I've also been told that I have more hot buttons than a Manhattan Elevator.
... yeah. Well. Just 'cause it's true doesn't mean it should be tested.
In any case, my head is reeling and my stomach is rejecting the peaches it consumed earlier... I'm at a loss.
... more or less, the problem is Love.
Not mine. Being single has its benefits - I don't have to worry about the possibility of being sucker punched. However.. there is something about the summer that brings out the best and worst in people. (I know I'm being vague, but I'm trying to also be respectful. I don't do it all that often - forgive me.)
Allow me to explain. Kind of.
At age 20, I am sitting here musing over the "loves" I have had. Won't lie, I've had a few. At least, I've felt so strongly towards certain men that the consequences have both uplifted me and sickened me. If I were to delve further into it, I have probably committed the same atrocious acts of unintended (... and sometimes intended...) hurt that have been done to me. I will go so far as to say that everyone on this planet, no matter how or why, has marred someone that they have "loved", or that has "loved" them.
I have never cheated, nor have I been cheated on. (As far as I know.)
I have, however, been unexpectedly dropped like a hot dish at a restaurant.
I have also done my fair share of dropping. Insecurities, stupidity, paranoia, angst... the list goes on for a while. I'm not the brightest crayon in the box - I am just lucky that the people I have hurt have it in them to forgive me when I screw up.
[good god, I'm scatterbrained tonight. back to the original point]:
Again, this is not my love. And... the person that housed that love... I have known for less than two months. I would call us friends, but not close. Music camp is miraculous in the sense that people form friendships ridiculously quickly, but the two of us don't sit and chat over cocoa, if you know what I mean. However, when you are with the same people for 24 hours a day, seven days a week, for a little over seven weeks... you can put pieces together.
To see this person, eyes red, head in his hands - my body began to feel wretched.
It is not my problem. It is not my love. Maybe it was the way that he would talk about his, though - or the calm, collected demeanor he radiated without even trying. Perhaps it was in the way that he acted as if seemingly impossible, untouchable things were nothing at all...
No one could understand how such a person could be reduced to tears.
Or... at least... no one could fathom the hurt that would cause it.
Maybe that's why my body laments it. It is not my love. But to see the depth of another's and watch it explode...
Frou Frou says that "there is beauty in the breakdown". Maybe. All I see is pain.
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