There is a pang in my gut. Not pain of a physical nature but one born of emotional loss. Empty space once filled with something special now gone. I have lived with this pang since memory began. It is as if there were something left behind yet I know not what.
Romance, I have indulged in over the years. Not frequently and never for long. Once, when intimacy had passed and closeness was about to begin, a feeling of deep regret began to fill that area of pang. Not knowing why, I ended the relationship. The regret hiding deep in my gut dispersed leaving only the emptiness once more.
So … love? Have I been in love before but prior to memory? If so I have no recollection of its occurrence, its start or ending or even who I bestowed it upon? I want to love. But, I fear it as well. Why? Not for any complication it might add to my life. Complication is an understatement for a life so rumpled; it resembles a cotton shirt left too long in the dryer after the cycle has stopped. What would another wrinkle add but more intrigue.
I feel like a lone sailor in his long boat fighting through a storm desperately fixed on the dim glow of a lighthouse showing the way home. Home, another egg I put in the same basket as love. I have never felt comfortable in this skin I wear, nor have I truly found a home with hearth to warm me through the night.
My labors are many but sweated through in solitude; no one to share them with. Yet, like a small pin stabbed through the back of my brain, the feeling that there once was love radiates like hardening cement.
Is there still?
Will I find them?
And if not, will I ever be able to accept someone new?
Why these reminiscences of a possible lost love? A movie, a chick flick if you will with all the emotions wrapped up pretty and ready to be opened. Yet, I have given up on this present and live another day alone, wrapped in the blanket of solitude that will, God willing, give me the focus to find my way home.