There's no hope for me...none.

Whenever I fall it’s hard…figuratively and literally.  There isn’t much difference really.  Recovering from falling in love and busting your ass in public is practically the same thing…in my experience anyway.  I would get back up a little haggard and hurt…my pride wounded.  Always a bit more wary of my footfalls.  Clutching to things as a crutch to steady me.   Making quick glances to see if anyone saw me…then a hearty laugh.  Well, eventually a hearty laugh…usually instigated by friends.

It’s that floating descent right before you hit the pavement that’s the best.  You are walking along minding your own business.  you have no idea what’s about to happen then…  Suddenly your in mid-air.  You throw up your arms and reach for something that’s not there.  Then resigned to your fate you let yourself go.  Knowing that you’re falling the whole time…wondering how you will land.  Prostrate?  Supine?  Or just square on your ass?  Don’t try and change your position or land in a way that you think will cause the least damage.  It only makes it worse.  Just let yourself go and enjoy the fall.

The free-fall is the best part.  You are lighter than air.  Your cheeks are rosy.  Your eyes are glazed.  I would spend my nights snuggling with Chaka Khan and making love to my pillow.  I would imagine serenading to the song Sweet Thing.  ’You are my heat.  You are my fire.  You make me weak with strong desire.’  Goddammit if I can’t have you right now I’ll burst into hot white flame.  I was never so forthcoming with actual prospects.  But in the privacy of my room I would fall apart.  Dreaming of the moment that would bring us together.  I was a combination of sensuality, passion and a Disney fairy-tail…a dangerous cocktail.  Dangerous to myself.

But when all was done and the candles had been snuffed out.  There I was.  Awkwardly sprawled with my bruised ego and broken heart.  I would not let my heart be troubled for long.  The lesson was learned.  And maybe next time I will stay afloat…hanging in mid-air.  Gliding on a current of love and trust my feet won’t touch the ground.   I will drift there and never crash…never worry how I will land.   There’s that fairy-tail again…rearing it’s love-song filled head.  Making the same mistakes in love is my favorite past-time.  There is really no hope for me…none.  But for now I will pretend there is.  And pretending isn’t pretending if you really believe